


Skip Trace by Charlotte C Hill, Maygra

by Maygra



Series: Skip Trace [1]
Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: M/M, Sex, Skip Trace - A modern day Mag7 AU, Vin Doesn't get any until later, often gratuitous but loving (because we can
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:27:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 287,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27524593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maygra/pseuds/Maygra
Summary: This story frames a new AU where Chris and Buck are life partners running a bail bond agency out of Atlanta. Taking a Skip at behest of a friend leads them on a different journey than the one they started.Also: The chapter posting is kind of messed up because I just copied and posted it from my website, and those chapter designations are actually different than what's represented here (You'll see it when you dive in). However, the chapters as designated here are in order, so there's that.
Relationships: Chris Larabee/Vin Tanner, Chris Larabee/Vin Tanner/Buck Wilmington, Chris/Buck, Vin Tanner/Buck Wilmington
Series: Skip Trace [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2011756
Comments: 5
Kudos: 9





	1. Skip Trace - The Big Score - Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know the chapter designations are effed up. I will do my best to correct them at some point.
> 
> Also CharlotteCHill won't let me add her as a co-creator, but, I tried.

The Big Score by Charlotte C Hill, Maygra

**SKIP TRACE: THE BIG SCORE**

**By Charlotte C. Hill and Maygra**

Universe: Skip Trace - This story frames a new AU where Chris and Buck are life partners running a bail bond agency out of Atlanta. 

Acknowledgements: Many thanks to Megan for morale and editorial support, as well as a few scenes <G>. 

Pairing/Characters: C/B, Vin, Ezra, cameos by the Nathan, Josiah & JD 

Rating: NC17 (We mean, seriously...look who's writing this thing!) 

Ingredients/warnings: Sex, often gratuitous but loving (because we can and because Buck begs so pretty). Vintage Camaros, Mustangs, and Ford two-tone trucks. Obligatory references to grits, sausage biscuits and Krispy Cremes (because, hey, it's set in Atlanta.) Stereotyped southern lawmen, stereotyped kindly US Marshalls, vague references to Native American ancestry and Dominoes Pizza (although not in the same sentence). Gucci shoes and Armani suits (because we only gave Ezra a little part and he counter-offered back for a better wardrobe.) Car washing, granola bars, cattle ranches in Wyoming, ex-lovers, and last but not least, beating up Vin because he wasn't getting any and Maygra pouted. 

Feedback: yes, please, any kind, on or off list to charlottechill@yahoo.com and maygra@gmail.com 

* * *

**Chapter 1 � _Saturday, May 5_**

"Shoot it," Chris grumbled, after the sixth ring. Too fucking early on a Saturday to answer the phone and somebody, _everybody_ should know it. It should be a law. Grabbing his pillow, he shoved it down on top of his head, groaning as the phone continued to ring. "Shoot it!" he snarled again to his partner and got a rough chuckle and a warm hand skating up his bare back-- 

\--only to snatch the pillow off his head. "Gun and phone's on your side," Buck said, rolling to his side and planting the pillow on top of his own head. 

Chris groaned, gave the cell phone a blurry but lethal glare and then reached for it. 

But not before he'd landed a hard slap on his lover's bare ass. 

"Youch!" Buck's cry was a little muted and Chris only grinned, snatching up the phone. 

"Larabee-- this better be good," he snarled into the phone, then yawned. 

"It's a job. You know something better?" 'Judge' Orrin Travis said mildly. "And you know _I_ wouldn't be up this early on a Saturday unless it was worth it." 

True enough. The judge liked his comforts and his leisure. Ex-judge. Ex-lawyer. Ex-many things but currently, while not exactly Chris's boss, he was the only man outside the team with Chris's cell phone number. 

But still. Chris flopped back down on the bed, resting his head on Buck's back, phone still tucked to his ear. "We've only been back for two days, Orrin. We could use the down time. How big is worth it?" 

"Half a million," Orrin said without pause. "Your take. Plus expenses." 

"Half a million? Are you shitting me?" Chris, said, not quite believing it, and then grunted as Buck rolled over, half-sitting up to stare at him as Chris resettled his head on the flat belly. "Jesus. What, some Miami mafia don ditched his guards?" 

"No. That might be easier. This isn't a skip. There's a warrant out. Murder one. Your perp is a bounty hunter himself, Vin Tanner." 

Chris racked his sleep-fogged brain. "I know that name." 

"I thought you might. I've got a file. Man's a loner. And he's good. Maybe even better than you and Wilmington." 

"You said murder," Chris said, shifting up to brace himself against his lover's body, and turning up the volume on the phone so Buck could lean close and hear as well. 

"Victim's name is Jess Kincaid. Tanner claims he was framed but he didn't give the cops long enough to find out. He was after a skip...shot and killed a man, and it wasn't the man he was after. That was nearly a week ago. At any rate, he's a fugitive. The warrant's good. But he's a high country expert, and the first time anyone spotted him since the shooting was early this morning when he was badged and ID'd by a TSA at the airport in Denver. We hoped he was headed for his hole in Wyoming, but video surveillance couldn't show him boarding a plane. Locals must have had nothing to do because they mounted one manhunt in the area surrounding Denver, but turned up nothing. Their fear is he's heading for one of the borders." 

"He'd be primed for either one," Chris said, glancing at Buck. Murder was bad enough. It made men desperate. The fact that Tanner was carrying a gun when he'd gone after his skip didn't make Chris feel any better. "You need an answer right now?" 

"I need an answer soon. The man putting up the reward wants the best." 

"Let me talk it over with Buck and the guys. I'll get back to you..." Chris sighed. If they took this, the weekend would be shot all to hell. "Give me a couple of hours." 

"I'll expect to hear from you by noon," Travis said. "I'll send over what I can by email and fax. The rest of this I'll send by courier." 

"All right," Chris said, a little surprised. The urgency behind the request was a little unusual for the Judge. "You seem to really want this one." 

"I do. The man Tanner killed...allegedly," the judge amended reluctantly, "was an old friend. I ate a meal with him less than two weeks ago. I hadn't seen him in years before that, but he was a decent man. I'd like to see justice done." 

"Yes, sir. I'm sorry, sir." 

"Noon. Peggy will send what we have," Travis said and hung up. 

Chris thumbed off the phone and leaned back against Buck. "You get all that?" 

"Most of it. Tanner's got a rep. A good rep," Buck said, propping himself up on one elbow. His other hand slid around the back of Chris's neck, massaging the muscles there. "Lot of money, but..." 

"But we'd have to start right away," Chris said, answering Buck's unspoken protest. They'd just spent three weeks on the road, dogging a 20-year-old first offender in a bank robbery. The kid had more guts than sense, but he'd rabbited and had barely stopped moving long enough for Chris and Buck to get a lead on him. They'd tracked him from Orlando through half the southern states through spring thunderstorms and just barely managed to grab him before he hit Ohio. And that for six grand plus expenses. Before that it had been a dead-beat dad who Chris had wanted more for the principle than the money. 

All and all, he and Buck had spent barely six weeks at home in the last six months. The economic situation in the rest of the country sucked, but it was great for their business as more people dodged debts, dodged responsibility or just went looking for an easy -- or desperate -- way out of their financial troubles. 

"At least he didn't ask it as a favor," Buck said. 

Chris grunted and sat up, twisting around to look his partner in the face. "He did. Just not in so many words." 

"First couple of days would be research and phone work. We can do that here." Buck leaned back, stretching out, arms crossed under his head; Chris found a grin for his lover's unconscious display as the sheets pulled down to barely cover his groin and thighs. Buck caught him looking and grinned, stretching his legs that much more to let the sheet slide a little further, warmth kindling in his eyes and spreading downward to heat up the rest of his body. "You know, in a little bit..." he added suggestively, and stretched out one hand. 

Chris took it and let himself be drawn up, stretching out over Buck in a position comfortable and familiar to them both. The sheet was a poor barrier to the heat building between them, and Buck raised his legs, cradling Chris against his groin as they exchanged the first lazy kisses of the morning. Which was pretty much what they'd planned to do all weekend. Stay in bed, get caught up on a little exercise and intimacy that had been sorely lacking in the last few weeks when they'd been too tired and too much on the move. 

Chris was always more tense on a job, too tightly focused and not to be easily distracted. Not that Buck ever, ever stopped trying, which could be fun in itself. But too many nights one of them had been on a stakeout while the other caught a few hours of sleep; the kid they'd been after tended to change direction and take off at the damnedest times. Twice they'd been ready to take him in the middle of the night, thinking he was sleeping, only to find him hyped up and aware and out a back window or door. Buck had done more running on this case than he'd done since the service and while his nearing-forty body did what he asked of it, it tended to complain a whole lot louder and more frequently these days. 

Hell, the whole reason they'd gone in yesterday was so they could take half of the next week off without the paperwork hanging over their heads. 

And Chris, though he'd never admit it, was worse off. Bad knee and a back that was increasingly giving him problems not only from physical strain, but from the tension he carried around him like a heavy winter overcoat. It had gotten bad enough that they'd talked about bringing some additional help into the business, especially after they'd pretty much lost Nathan for fieldwork and their caseload kept increasing. Unspoken was the thought that someone younger might cope better with the more physically demanding side of the business. 

Ezra was good on the road, but it was a waste of his God-given talents, and they usually lost money when they pulled him into the field. Ezra had sweet-talked more skips into turning themselves in and coaxed more information out of people with that silver tongue than the rest of them put together. Taking the man away from a telephone or his local contacts, unless the payoff was big or the need undeniable, was a mistake in management, simple as that. And JD, much as the kid wanted to do field work, pretty much sucked at it. He was too young and too small to be taken seriously by criminals, and too smart, really, to try to be muscle anyway in this day and age. His love of every kind of spy and snoop-ware he could lay his hands on, coupled with his absolute genius with computers, hobbled him to the office where he made or saved the company more money than he could ever scare up on the road. Josiah was older than all of them, and worked the research end like the pro he was. 

Nathan had picked up the footwork with ease and competency, but with his new wife and a baby on the way, he was as reluctant to take jobs that kept him from home as they were to send him. Chris thought he understood that better than Buck, but Buck had seen what could happen to a man who lost people, and he understood plenty. In a pinch, they'd ask Nathan to take up some slack, but not without a whole lot better reason than Buck and Chris were tired -- since they were the ones who decided which skips to take and which to pass on. 

There were downsides to being in charge. Maybe more to being the best, because damned if everybody didn't seem to want a piece of them lately. 

Five years they'd been doing this and doing it well, but Buck wondered if Chris ever quite forgot that he'd fallen into this line of work because he'd had nothing better to do at the time. He had sworn he wouldn't return to regular law enforcement agencies, since they had all but given up on ever finding, much less arresting, the person or persons who had murdered Sarah and Adam... damn, over seven years ago now. Neither of them was suited for the hierarchy of the police force anymore, the strict routine, the adherence to too many rules and the fear of civil suits and public retaliation. 

But bounty hunting had its own routine, and at their level of the game, it was beginning to wear them down. 

Business had been good from the start, the ancillary work they did for local law enforcement giving way to bail enforcement after Chris and Orrin Travis had met up at a party, of all places, and found something in common besides the business. Travis had lost his son to an unknown killer as well. A vocal, corruption-exposing journalist, Steven Travis hadn't been afraid to go after anyone, be they city council members or state senators. His investigations had brought several prominent officials to court -- and then someone apparently decided he was more trouble than he was worth. He'd left a wife and a young son behind and that had cut into Chris as nothing else could have. Over whiskeys in the dark paneled study of the party's host, Travis and Chris came to a glimmering awareness of how their particular lines of work and talents could fit together professionally; Travis ran a dozen bail offices across the country and while he might dole out the smaller bails to other agencies, when he had a big surety, he called W&L Investigations. 

Buck half-thought Travis had been matchmaking, introducing Chris to his daughter-in-law, and it had worried Buck a little because things between him and Chris were new back then. But while Chris had been friendly, Buck knew he'd never been more than that. Buck thought it was the boy, Billy, who had really gotten Chris's attention. Mary was dating some real estate developer now, another widower, with a young daughter. Looked like they might make a go of it. 

He hoped they did all right; most folks didn't have the kind of luck Buck did, to find what he needed right under his nose after a lifetime of searching elsewhere. He still remembered that brilliant spring sunset and that first kiss, and sometimes he still wasn't sure he'd ever come up for air from it. 

Four years. Almost fifteen years of friendship before that. 

That first kiss and the love behind it, and all those years--that was all he cared about right now; he hitched his hips up, feeling his partner's weight and how it pressed his butt into the mattress. It was all he could afford to care about, because they were exhausted and down to their last legs, so if Chris was considering this job it was because Travis was trying to make it personal. 

That was different. And Buck knew it as he let his fingers comb though the dark blond hair at the back of Chris's head. Had to be, because as much as Buck wanted the down time, he knew Chris was damn close to _needing_ it. Needed time to regain his balance and his focus. 

"What?" 

"Nothing." 

"You sighed." 

"Didn't." 

Chris lifted his head from where it rested on Buck's chest, raised an eyebrow and fixed him with that discerning green-eyed gaze. 

Buck squirmed a little. Keeping his opinions off the table was sometimes necessary when Chris had a bug up his ass. Later when he'd calmed down, Buck would offer his view. But Chris wasn't actually wound tight enough at the moment not to notice. "Let's just wait until we have the files from the judge and then decide," he offered. But Chris had already decided, despite his words to Travis. Luckily for both of them, Travis didn't play on Chris's known weakness for cases involving anything to do with personal loss or family very often. 

But he was now and it annoyed Buck to no end. 

"That's what I said." 

Buck only rolled his eyes and tugged at Chris's hair to kiss him before shoving him off. "You lie like a rug, Larabee," he said with a huff, but he wasn't really angry with his lover, sliding out of bed to head for the bathroom. Chris followed him. 

"Spit it out," he said at the same time he was coming up behind Buck to slide one arm around his waist and the other over his hand as Buck took aim at the toilet. It was enough to make Buck get hard enough to almost not be able to piss. Worse when Chris let his teeth rake lightly over Buck's shoulder. 

"You want an answer or you want what's in your hand?" Buck asked, half annoyed, half amused and a whole lot aroused. Chris gave him a squeeze. 

"Bit of both..." he said, but he let go and reached over to turn on the faucets in the sink, stepping away to splash water on his face. 

The sound of running water and a seriously full bladder did the trick, and Buck finished as Chris was turning on the shower. For a long moment, Buck just let his eyes rove over his partner's body. Chris's back was to him, broad shoulders and pale, even-complexioned skin tapering to a trim waist and an amazingly neat little ass. An ass Buck was happy to lay exclusive claim to. Even thirty-nine, Chris was all wiry muscle and sleek lines, no hint of fat or sign of age in the compact body, despite the bad knee and back. Oh, Buck could see it in his face from time to time. Fine wrinkles were starting to form at his eyes and mouth, hair that might be a tad thinner than it had been ten years ago, had maybe a hint of silver in and among the blond strands. There was a floridity that rose to his face and throat when he was drinking too much or his blood pressure was up which happened more now than a few years ago. But all in all...Chris was wearing his age well. 

The hot water sent steam rising and Buck hit the fan, grabbing up towels to lay on the commode before stepping into the extra large stall and grabbing soap and a washcloth. Chris was already wet, but he moved aside to let Buck duck his head under the water, pre-empting Buck's intention by taking over the soap and washcloth and applying both to Buck's back. 

"So talk." 

Buck leaned against the tiles, ready to curse Chris for winding him up and then backing off, but the hands on his back were firm and the feeling as sensual a foreplay as Buck knew. "You pick the damnedest times..." he sighed. "Okay. Murder. Guns. A man who knows as much as we do about skipping and hiding... there's not even a surety here, no bond guarantee at all�he's just got a warrant, so we could get sued if we screw up, and Tanner'll know that too. This could go on for weeks. Maybe months. If he's killed once..." He let that thought trail off. 

As a rule, he and Chris rarely carried concealed weapons, even though they were licensed. Handguns were bad for business, and likely to make a bad situation worse; they stuck to the weapons a skip would see, rifles and light-gauge shotguns, and that generally did the trick. 

"I know that." 

Buck turned around, wiping water from his eyes and letting the shower rinse off his back. "All I'm saying is...neither of us is up to par for someone that's not stupid and isn't likely to be convinced of the error of his ways by Ezra's hundred-dollar-a-word bullshit." 

Chris scowled at that but Buck didn't break his gaze and didn't back down. "How's your back?" 

That got him another glare and Chris ducked under the water again before reaching for the shampoo. "So we look at what we have, give Josiah a crack at it and see if he's got any ideas on which way Tanner will jump and see if we have a chance in hell of getting to him before he gets out of the country." 

Which meant days if not weeks of work just to see if they could make it happen. It wasn't an argument Buck was going to win at the moment, so he stalled, reaching up to work the lather through Chris's hair and then finishing his own bathing while Chris rinsed off. 

Ten minutes later Buck was silently grousing about the lack of coffee as much as the promise of loving later on. In a better frame of mind he could have coaxed Chris back to bed and if not fucked some sense into him, at least fucked him senseless and given them both a little more time to think. But Chris was already on it, dragging on jeans before Buck had even dried off and heading not for the kitchen, but the office at the front of the house. 

The printer was peeling off page after page when Buck generously brought his partner a cup along with some toast to at least get food into him. There were times when Buck felt like a nanny; when Chris got going on something, eating wasn't something he gave a lot of thought to. 

Eschewing his own desk for the leather couch, Buck picked up the first dozen or so pages and started scanning. 

His memory hadn't been wrong about Tanner, although the details were sketchy until he started reading. Thirty-two years old, Tanner had been bounty hunting since his mid twenties, shortly after his discharge from the army. The man had no family, worked alone, and while he was licensed to do the same kind of skip tracing Chris and Buck did, he was more like an anachronism. He tended toward fugitives with a lot less to lose than most: murderers, rapists, people who shouldn't have gotten bails set in the first place. He was a former army sniper and had contracted to nearly every federal agency on the books at one time or another; damn, it was a surprise they hadn't run into each other somewhere before. His record of arrests and recoveries probably rivaled Leonard Padilla's but he was exactly the kind of renegade hunter that most bounty hunters tried desperately to downplay. 

But unlike Green who booked in for media deals on everything from NBC's Dateline to America's Most Wanted, Tanner had never chased the interviews and the celebrity that his record might have brought him. Not to mention the additional money. About half of the people he brought in weren't even under bond, which meant he was getting paid at state and federal pay that maybe would get him twice the going wage plus expenses. Buck didn't need Josiah's degree in psychology to know there was something else driving Tanner toward the more dangerous end of their business. 

What surprised him was the fact that despite Tanner's history of armed encounters, he wasn't, or hadn't up to now, ever been accused of using excessive force. He'd winged a fugitive or two, but he brought them back the way the state wanted them: alive and able to stand trial. Some of his violent catches he probably could have walked on accidental death or manslaughters, self-defense even, but there were only two of those, and both had been while he was contracting with the US Marshals. 

The police report on the murder was pretty clear, though. Jess Kincaid hadn't been killed in self-defense, by accident or while resisting arrest. The man had taken a bullet to the back of the head; executed, not just shot while trying to run, with Tanner's gun, and Tanner himself was still there when the neighbor had started screaming and the police were on the way. Three witnesses absolutely identified him as being the man on the scene. For whatever reason, Tanner hadn't resisted or run then. 

According to the arresting officers, on the drive back to the station Tanner had been discovered to be wounded, and had gotten ill in the patrol car -- vomiting, bleeding. Stupidly, maybe, they'd pulled over to let him puke on the side of the road and called for an ambulance. In the transfer from car to ambulance, Tanner had gotten away. He'd run into oncoming traffic, pulled a man out of his truck and headed out at full speed. They'd found the truck a mile away on the side of the road and Tanner gone, blood on the seat, and a trail heading into the woods and the mountains around Buford dam. The next--and only--positive ID had been in Denver, just before three a.m. local time this morning, at the airport. 

The people beating the bushes in north Georgia would be pissed. 

Chris was reading the same information off the computer screen, half-glasses perched on his nose. He looked at Buck at the same time Buck looked at him. "How does a man get wounded shooting someone in the back?" Chris asked. 

"Kincaid didn't have a gun, so the report says. They couldn't find it. I dunno, maybe a tussle, Tanner got hurt...maybe he killed him because Kincaid pissed him off. Got a picture?" Buck asked and Chris nodded, sliding back in his chair to let Buck get up and look at the computer screen. 

Travis had sent several photos. One was obviously from when Tanner was in the service, a young face with old eyes, spiffed up in dress greens and a beret. Blue eyes were focused just to the left of the camera lens, a strong jaw and crew cut lending maturity to a man who was probably no more than 19 or 20 when the picture was taken. The one next to it was more recent. Same eyes, same jaw, dark hair fell to his shoulders in thick waves. He was smiling in this one: an easy grin, a tilt to the head. He was a handsome man, showing a few more wrinkles around the eyes than maybe should be there for a man of his age, but looking at that smile, Buck wondered if Tanner just didn't smile a lot. 

Another picture gave a couple of full-body shots. In one with a group of Marshals, Tanner wore a hip length leather coat, propped a rifle case over his shoulder. "AP Newswire. Suppressed," Travis's notes read. The other was from the same set of photos but Tanner was coatless, leaning against an old two-tone Ford truck, drinking water. He bordered on the skinny side, lean and looking a little rough -- reminded Buck of nothing so much as a coyote fallen on hard times, kind of mangy and skittish. He checked for the notation, then dug through his papers for a reference. Two years ago. Two weeks spent in the back country of North Dakota, tracking two escaped convicts. They'd gotten both but Tanner had killed one. Courts hadn't found anything but a self-defense decree based on pretty passionate testimony from the Marshals he'd been working with. 

Tanner was no angel. He had no felony convictions but it had come close a couple of times: charges of drunk and disorderly, a couple of fights that had seen charges reduced from felonious assault to misdemeanor public disturbance. Either the man was lucky or he had a hell of a good lawyer. There was little on his service record, but there might be more in the information Travis was sending over. But no matter which way Buck twisted, lacking any other motivation, he was finding it difficult to pin premeditated murder on the man he'd been reading about. Not that it wasn't possible. People did funny and stupid, and in some cases, lethal, things when they were riled or feeling threatened. 

Chris was looking at the pictures but not really seeing them, Buck thought. He'd pulled his glasses off, rubbing his upper lip with an idle forefinger. Buck settled on the edge of the desk and waited. 

A moment later, Chris leaned forward and sent selected documents on to Josiah and picked up the phone. Unlike them, Josiah had more than likely been up and awake for hours. "Josiah, it's Chris. Just sent you something by email. Take a read and tell me what you think." He paused, glancing at Buck. "Nope. I don't want to tell you anything else. I want to hear what you think. Soon as you can," he added and said his good-byes before hanging up. 

"Travis is holding out on us," Buck said. 

"Yup. But he still wants him." 

"We're not the courts and we're not law enforcement and we're sure as hell not federal. It's not up to us." 

Chris nodded, pulling the last of the papers off the printer, glancing over them briefly before handing them to Buck. "The skip he was after was a perp named Eli Joe Whitney. Jumped a bond on an arson a while back." 

Buck gave it a minute but Chris didn't flinch or tense. Whitney was still out there, a string of misdemeanors, nothing as serious as murder although there were a couple of dicey arrests for other arson and conspiracy charges, none of which had stuck. Two felony convictions: one for assault, and one for arson. He'd done probation for one, five years for the second. But armed assault wasn't really Whitney's M.O. The man was a weasel but not a murderer. Still, things could change. 

"You know James?" Buck asked and Chris shook his head. 

"Friend of Travis's, he said." 

Stuart James had put up the reward--all of it. He was listed as a landowner, cattle man, oilman, out of Texas. 

Kincaid was from Texas as well, and there was nothing on what Kincaid had been doing in Atlanta. 

"It's a long shot," Buck started. 

Chris just nodded. 

"We shouldn't take it," he averred. 

Chris didn't even blink at that one. 

They'd have to do a lot of backtracking to pick up Tanner's trail, because this didn't add up and Travis knew it. 

Like Chris with Josiah, though, Buck could see the judge letting them draw their own conclusions. "Sooooo...." Buck drawled out. "We're doing this for Travis and the money?" 

Chris gave him a grin, a light in his eyes and despite the seriousness that he really wasn't ignoring, there was a fire already burning in him \-- Chris did like to pick apart puzzles, didn't like mysteries. "Yup." 

Buck knew the argument was lost. He could still offer all the same reasons and they were good ones, but Chris -- on his game, on the hunt, excited about the challenge -- wasn't easily shifted. Buck half-huffed in amusement; "wasn't easily" was an understatement, like it wasn't easy to dig the Grand Canyon with a dessert spoon. 

But he wasn't entirely immune to Buck's concerns and he stepped close into the gap between Buck's spread thighs and laid his hands on Buck's shoulders, kneading them lightly. "We could let Josiah and Nathan and Ezra take point. Give us a couple of days." 

They could. Buck set the papers aside and pulled Chris in closer. His kiss wasn't an answer and Chris didn't take it for one. 

Tanner had been on the run for nearly a week before he'd surfaced in Denver. Too much delay would give him a head start that might make all the difference; they needed to know why Denver, and the sooner they got there, the better. Better to have the rest of their team doing the digging while Chris and Buck were doing the running if they wanted to make it work, to have a chance in hell of bringing Tanner in at all. Chris knew that as well as Buck did. 

"Right now, I'll settle for a couple of hours," Buck said roughly, nuzzling the bare chest to latch teeth and lips onto one small brown nipple. Chris moved in, curled around him, felt for Buck's crotch. 

An hour later when Josiah called, they ignored the ringing, the message, and for the moment, the case. If they were going to steal time, they were going to make the best of it and Buck knew, as he pinned Chris to the bed and filled that tight ass forcefully and repeatedly, and did his best to suck the air out of Chris's lungs, that his best might have to last them both for awhile.  


**Chapter 2**

The ride to the office had been unreasonably fun, either from the post-sexual lassitude or the fact that it was such a beautiful day. Buck had spent his time so far photocopying the files the courier had delivered, because the next nonstop to Denver left in less than five hours and Chris had decided they needed to be on it. 

Ezra was even less amused. Uncharacteristically casual in ratty jeans and a beat-up sweatshirt, he attacked a latte with aggressive gulps and glared equally at everyone for being called from his bed on a Saturday morning. 

JD was JD, keeping his head down from Ezra's evil eye and sucking on an unlit cigarette, while he worked the computer for anything they could find on Tanner, Denver, Tanner, Wyoming, Tanner, Kincaid, and Tanner in general. Chris had gotten a little obsessive over what the judge might have left out. 

When Buck picked up the sheet he'd been about to feed into the copy machine, he cursed under his breath, understanding. Travis had left out the time limit in his first flurry of information. Why the money was only good for two weeks was beyond Buck, but when you were dealing with private money and those amounts of it, the grantor could do pretty much whatever the hell they wanted. 

Thirteen days, really, good until close of business on May 18. Thirteen days meant they'd be throwing hail Marys and hoping to get lucky, and working like dogs against the clock. On the upside, the time limit meant that, worst-case scenario, they'd be back in their own bed by a week from next Friday. Problem was, that was still thirteen exhausted days away. They needed the time now. 

He waved the offending sheet in Chris's direction. "Did you know about this?" 

"Let me use my Superman vision..." he said half-heartedly, then stood up and met Buck halfway across the room. He scanned the page for all of three seconds, said "No," then handed it back and returned to the cubbyhole where they kept their desk. 

"Chris," he started, trying to be reasonable. "We're pissing into the wind, here." 

"You got something better to do?" Chris challenged, then everything that sparked in Buck's eyes must have registered on him because he added gruffly, "for the money, I mean?" Because yeah, Buck had plenty better to do, like resting and eating and making love, then making love, eating, maybe resting a little more before making love again. Like walking around holding hands on their property, stopping to lean against a tree or a fencepost and hold each other, maybe watch clouds scuttle by. Important stuff. Far more important stuff than chasing an escaped bounty hunter that they weren't going to catch anyway. 

"Sleep?" he tried. 

"Anything in the world?" Ezra added. He'd been bitching for the last half-hour, especially when the first thing Chris did was make him check plane and hotel reservations. 

"Why can't JD do it?" Ezra had squawked, and Chris, typical of him when his head was down, had been typically diplomatic and said "Because JD's doing more important stuff right now." 

Ezra had yet to forgive Chris for that remark, nor had he stopped complaining. 

"Chris," Buck said, low, and finally strode over to his lover and grabbed him by the forearm. "This is stupid." 

"He's right," Ezra echoed from somewhere behind Buck. 

Chris's wrist jerked once in his grip, then settled before his partner licked dry lips and glanced covertly around the room. JD would be trying not to watch them; Josiah, still reading through his own sheaf of papers, would be ignoring them, and Ezra would have pushed back his chair and turned to stare at them, because he was pissed off at Chris. 

"You don't want to go," Chris hissed, hostile as a stepped-on rattler, "then don't go. I'm not passing it up." 

Buck cast back over the morning, over the fact that he'd known this before they'd even gotten out of bed, and the fact that Chris, damn him, liked the pressure sometimes and the Tanner case would likely provide him plenty of that. Pressure or, worse, waiting around and winding up until his whole body vibrated like a plucked guitar string. Buck had personal experience of how alternately boring and irritating sharing a stakeout with Chris was, when he got like that. 

Buck let him go then and backed a step away, giving up. He'd always known what he was getting with Chris: stubborn, ill-tempered when pushed, intensely loving, funny, sniping, passionate, ethical.... It was only thirteen more days, he tried to console himself. Then he'd bury the telephones and tie Chris to the bed if he had to. Buck sighed and returned to the photocopier just as Ezra, sensing weakness in their usually united front, started harping again. 

"You could have booked your own damned flights and I could have started back in on Monday," Ezra grumbled for the fourth time. 

"It's half a million, Ezra," Chris finally said. 

The room went quiet. Even JD's tapping on the keyboard stopped. 

Buck turned around from the little converted closet to see the man's reaction, and almost laughed; his face had gone white. 

"Half a--excuse me?" he finally asked. 

"Half a million. Private money, already in bond. We get Tanner back to Atlanta, we cash in big." 

Ezra blinked. Blinked again. His mouth opened and closed. 

Amused as hell now, Buck cast back in his memory to try and recall any time Ezra Standish had been at a loss for words, and came up empty. 

"Half a million," Ezra repeated slowly, recovering. 

"Plus expenses," Chris nodded. "You said you wanted the big score, well, this is it." 

"If we pull it off," Ezra finally muttered. Then, all business for the first time that day, he said, "I can get you on a different flight out of Atlanta in an hour and twenty minutes, connecting in Memphis--" 

"Forget it," Buck interrupted. "We're rushed as it is." 

"He was at the airport this morning. Do you know how far a man can get in six hours?" 

Buck glanced Chris's way and suppressed a sigh. He knew exactly how far a man could get in six hours, and wished they'd had six hours to get there a couple more times. 

"Follow us to Denver, Ezra," Chris said, as Buck turned back to the copy machine. "Set up shop there and work the locals. If Tanner's not in the city, you can come home and we'll go on ahead to Wyoming, start at his place there." 

Ezra shut down his cheap little notebook computer and pulled out a cell phone. "Fuck that, Chris," he said, short and succinct. "For half a mil, I'm taking that flight in an hour. I'll be there ahead of you and set up. Reservations," Ezra snapped into his phone as he jogged out the door. 

Buck turned startled eyes to Chris who, after a stunned second, broke out laughing. "Anybody ever see him move that fast?" Chris asked, glancing around at Josiah and JD. 

"I didn't know he _could_ move that fast," Josiah commented. 

Chuckling, Buck turned back to the copier. Nathan would be in soon, and Josiah would direct research from this end, from the murder scene and the suspects. Ezra was on board, obviously. And JD, well, the kid was good at doing what he was told. 

W&L � W&L � W&L 

As flights went, this one wasn't so bad. The plane wasn't packed like sardines, they got the exit row seats so he could stretch his too-long legs, and all of the flight attendants were women, four out of five younger and pretty and not immune to flirtation. 

Just after takeoff, he'd tried to start up a conversation, to organize what they knew, but Chris already had his nose in the reams of paper Buck had copied. 

"Jesus, did you get these pages in the right order?" Chris snapped, and the second time he complained about Buck's collating skills Buck sighed and picked up the other accordion file. 

"I was top of my class in photocopying, I think they're in the right order," he snapped, irritated before they'd even reached altitude. 

"I'm not kidding," Chris said, gruff and distracted as he tried to sort through three different piles on the tiny tray table. "What the fuck is this supposed to be?" 

"Shut up," Buck muttered. 

"What?" 

"Shut up," he repeated. "It's all there, every page from Travis, and I've got some more stuff the kid found before we left. You want to read, read. But don't get pissed off at me when you're the one who said yes before we even got out of bed this morning." 

Chris pinned him with hard eyes, but Buck just met the look and they softened a little while he watched, then Chris scrubbed his face with his hands. "Yeah, all right." 

He picked up the first pages with one hand and reached for Buck's with the other. Buck jerked his hand away from the apologetic clasp. 

"Stop it," he griped, "you'll scare off the stewardesses." 

Chris just smirked at him and spent the next twenty minutes grabbing his hand every time anybody walked down the aisle, but eventually his attention focused back in on the job, and he was off in his own world. 

Buck dug in himself, after awhile, focusing on the fantasy of cashing a five hundred thousand dollar check, and the long vacation he was going to force onto Chris if they pulled this off. 

Three hours later they checked in with Ezra as they picked up their bags. He already had a couple of hotel rooms, more expensive than Chris or Buck would have chosen but he'd managed to stay away from anything with more than three stars. He'd meet them out front, then they'd pick up a second rental. 

With an assist from JD, Ezra already had a line on Eli Joe Whitney and a copy of the TSA incident report. Finding Whitney hadn't been that difficult; he was in the phone book, and for fifty bucks a friend at Verizon had coughed up the residential address the phone number was attached to. Denver was apparently Whitney's base of operations, so it followed that Tanner might be here for him. With nothing else to go on, the current plan was to stake out Whitney's place and see if Tanner showed, Chris and Buck taking the lion's share of the stakeout while Ezra continued to talk to Whitney's landlord, local law enforcement, businesses, anyone who could give them more on Whitney or on Tanner. If Tanner had headed for Canada or even Mexico, they'd have little chance of finding him, much less bringing him in. 

Two days later Chris was thinking that was what had happened. They'd hardly seen Whitney the whole time. The man, squirreled up in his apartment like he was hibernating, had gone out for groceries a couple of times but only down to the corner market. 

The area wasn't the best, run down and badly in need of any number of city services from trash pickup to the DOT. Whitney's building was three stories of sandy colored brick and aluminum. They'd cased the building, checking for other exits, other entrances, but aside from exterior fire escapes, the building was a dead end. 

Buck had taken an opportunity when Whitney was out and slipped up to the man's apartment, snooping around until his cell phone beeped; Chris, warning him that the skip was on his way back home. Buck slipped out of the space, passing Whitney on the stairs without a word or even a look, grinning like a loon at his success. 

"It's an armory up there," he reported. "Looks like he's ready for World War III." 

"What did you expect?" Chris asked. 

Buck didn't know. All he was sure of was that Whitney was dangerous, and to be avoided. 

"Did you disturb anything?" 

"Yeah," Buck retorted, peeved, "and I left him a note." 

Chris barely offered back a sneer. 

Each of them had swapped off with Ezra once, just for a chance at a good night's sleep, but by Monday Chris and Buck were back on watch. Whitney's car was still there, parked in the alley beside the building that qualified as "off street" parking. Their view was from a block away, slightly north, looking down Whitney's street with his building on the left. It was the only position that let them also have at least a partial view of the fire escape that serviced Whitney's apartment. 

Buck had swapped out with Ezra before five, bearing coffee and breakfast for Chris, and Chris had managed a couple of hours of napping in the back seat but the last couple of days sitting in the car were wearing on both of them. Chris was sore and out of sorts, and Buck was just tired, rarely rising to the challenge of trying to coax his partner out of his less than sunny mood. 

They'd decided to give Tanner another 24 hours to show before calling it a bust and moving on to Plan B. Plan B involved beating the bushes and passing out leaflets about the wanted man, hoping to flush Tanner out into the open. Not that they expected it to work. Denver was a big city, and Tanner would know to lay low. Ezra hadn't turned up much more, save to make contact with the rancher Tanner rented his place from in Wyoming. Tanner hadn't been seen and the man didn't know when to expect him back. Ezra wasn't entirely sure Mr. Chanu Reeves had been telling the truth, but short of harassing him or actually going to Wyoming, he had assured Buck that there wasn't much else he could do just yet. He'd also gotten in touch with the INS in Texas, New Mexico and Arizona, claiming that Tanner would twitch to the south if he decided to skip the country, and the US Marshals District office in Cheyenne. It was the office Tanner worked out of most often, but he found little to help them there. They were aware of the warrant. Commander Tom Glenn had gone to Tanner's place himself and seen no sign of him. 

It all irritated Chris. They'd found no trace of Tanner on any bus route, nor on any commercial plane. It wasn't impossible that he'd found a charter, but if he had, he'd paid cash to get out of Denver. If the man had slipped into the city with next to no traceable evidence, he could just as easily slip out of it again. 

By mid-morning Chris was ready to climb the walls and trying Buck's patience to no end. On Buck's near-order, Chris had gotten out, strolled to the market and picked up sodas just to stretch his legs. But even as Chris watched the building through binoculars, Buck was of half a mind to head up to Whitney's apartment again and see if he couldn't get some answers from the man, just to put an end to this mess. They could do it, legally. There was a bond out on Whitney so he was fair game, but taking him in would net only two percent of what Tanner could bring them, and if Whitney were no longer available to Tanner, God only knew where the other man would or could go. 

"You should take a walk again, pard," Buck suggested quietly, watching Chris try and find a comfortable position. Buck was stretched out as long as the seat would allow him, but Chris, who could normally flop down and sprawl with the best of them, might as well have had a pole up his ass. The man didn't know how to relax on a stakeout anymore, and his frustration wasn't helping. 

"I'm fine," Chris snapped, pulling the binoculars away to rub at his eyes, then fumbling on the seat for ibuprofen. He washed them down with a flat soda, glared at Buck and went back to watching. 

Buck held back a sigh. Chris had wound himself tight faster than usual and not for the first time Buck cursed silently; taking this on had been a mistake. Ezra was already being sulky for getting dressed down once -- Chris expecting a lot and Ezra unable to deliver. Buck had eased between them, settled them down before it got truly ugly; to give Ezra credit, he hadn't snapped back with the fury Buck knew him capable of when Chris pressed too hard and, even for Chris, unfairly for more information. 

They'd had a long talk that night. Buck reminded his lover that aside from the fact that Ezra was good, Tanner knew what he was doing. He knew what any bounty hunter would be doing, too, and had covered his tracks accordingly. And last but not least, Chris was the one who had decided to take this job so he needed to get his head out of his ass and start treating his people better. Hence the decision to give it another day before shutting the stakeout down in favor of more direct action. Not that it would do them any good, Buck added. Chris had reluctantly agreed and even apologized to Ezra. But now he was on a different deadline and it was just making him more ornery with every passing hour. 

It promised to be the longest twenty-four hours of Buck's life. Eventually Chris's eyes or his back would give out and need a break, but for now, he was worse than a broody hen on a nest, and Buck escaped the tense silence by letting himself drift a bit. 

"Fuck me..." Chris hissed out through his teeth and Buck came out of his doze, gaze following where Chris had the binoculars. 

"Any time..." Buck mumbled. "Wha--??" 

"Pay dirt, pard. Pay day," Chris muttered, handing over the binoculars and cranking the engine. 

Buck looked and let out a chuckle of his own. There was Tanner. Not so slick or unpredictable after all. He'd just parked what had to be the scariest looking rental Buck had ever seen -- either that or Tanner had hot-wired someone's old clunker -- in the alley that west-sided Whitney's apartment. 

Chris checked the traffic and pulled off the side street they'd been haunting. 

Tanner was moving cautiously -- or stiffly -- resting his hand on the scarred trunk of his car and checking the street, staying close to the building as he came round the corner and looking upward to make sure he wasn't spotted from the apartment above as he crossed the street. 

They had him. And they knew the building: One entrance in front and stairs, illegally chained fire exit in back. When Tanner went in, he could only go up. 

Before they reached the cross street, though, another car pulled to up in front of Whitney's building, close to the curb, and the front passenger side door opened before the car stopped. 

It was almost too fast for Buck to actually warn Chris. "Got company," he said and then swore as a second car pulled in behind Tanner. 

Definitely a man caught between bad choices, as four men approached him, fanning out to minimize his escape. Not that Tanner didn't try. 

Chris swore as well, able to see the action now without the binoculars. Tanner feinted left and got a half dozen steps before one of the men took him down hard against the curb and the others moved in. "This kind of bad timing only happens in the movies," he said, slowing down. "Marshals?" Not local PD unless the dressed in plainclothes. 

"Maybe," Buck said, but he was still watching. "No badges being flashed...and... shit." 

Tanner was being hauled to his feet, arms pulled behind him. He looked a little dazed but he was moving. 

"No cuffs. They may be playing for our team," Buck said with disgust, still watching. "Or not..." he added as one of them men pulled a gun, more or less discreetly, and smiled broadly. "This is fucked. I don't know who they are but that's five hundred grand on the hoof out there and I'm not inclined to just let 'em--" 

They were hauling Tanner toward the apartment building rather than back to their cars, and there was Whitney strolling out, a smug, satisfied look on his weasely little face. "I don't know what it is, but I don't think they plan on taking him back home," Buck said. 

Chris had that look on his face as he applied more gas to the engine. "Back seat," he said, tersely. 

"Chris...." Buck said but he was already moving, all but falling over the seatback as Chris revved the engine and headed straight for the five men, laying heavily on the horn. 

"Left side!" he snapped out, and Buck moved then braced himself as Chris fishtailed the car. Buck caught only a glimpse of three of the men scattering, the one holding Tanner dragging him aside, only to lose him when his prisoner twisted, ducked and drove a knee into his groin. 

Buck winced in spite of himself and when he popped the door, Tanner wasn't more than three feet from him. "Get in!" Buck snapped, and saw the indecision, Tanner poised to run, but the men were getting to their feet and Buck felt his own heart start to race as weapons were pulled. He made a half lunge out of the car. "Get the fuck in!" he snapped and jerked Tanner's arm. He got less resistance than he expected. "Go, Chris!" he said and pulled Tanner further in while Chris gunned the engine. 

He could hear the gunfire, but Chris was weaving like a drunk, and Buck almost lost his grip on Tanner before he could get the door closed. But then they were clear and the shots faded and while Chris didn't ease up on the gas, he did stop swerving so that Buck and Tanner weren't being sloshed around like fish in a bowl. 

"Thanks," Tanner said as he righted himself, breathing a little heavily, voice a little rough. "Now who the fuck are you guys?" 

The door locks slammed down and Buck moved before Tanner could react, snapping handcuffs on his wrist before he realized it. 

He was more prepared than his prisoner, but Tanner didn't give in easily. Not that there was much he could do in the confines of the car. Buck used leverage and size to slam Tanner into the corner between seat and door, hearing the sharp exhale of air and a grunt. He got a boot heel in his thigh but he hauled back and drove his fist into Tanner's jaw to stun him enough to get the second cuff around his wrist. 

Between the punch and the cuffs, the fight left Tanner quickly and after a moment he lifted his bound hands to rub at his jaw, sliding a bit down into the seat, eyeing Buck warily. "Not much for small talk, huh?" he said, a little mush-mouthed. 

"Wilmington," Buck said settling back but still alert and tense. "Larabee," he chinned his head toward Chris. 

He appeared to turn the words over in his mind. "W&L out of Atlanta?" 

"Yep," Chris said without even flicking his eyes to the rearview. 

"There's folks want to talk to you back home," Buck offered. 

"Ain't no bail," Tanner said and sat up, eyes narrowing. 

"Nope. But there is a reward for a fugitive," Chris said. 

"And there's performing an illegal arrest too," he shot back. 

"We're willing to risk it, for the guys who want you. You're pretty popular, Tanner." 

"Seems like," Tanner murmured and glanced behind them, then closed his eyes and sank down against the seat, hands resting between his thighs and one foot braced on the back of the front seat console. 

"Ain't you gonna say you didn't do it?" Buck asked. 

Tanner opened his eyes, staring at Buck long and hard. Buck only grinned at him and Tanner just shook his head. "Would you believe me?" he asked, but quietly, like he really wanted to know. His eyes closed again and he shifted a little, mouth tightening, then smoothing out, expression somewhere between tired and dead tired. 

Buck sat back, catching Chris's eyes in the rearview mirror. "Who were those guys?" 

"Hell, if I know. Never seen 'em before. Eli Joe knew 'em though," Tanner said. "Looked real happy to see 'em," he added, seemingly puzzled by that, but he fell silent again, staring out the window. 

Buck reached over and patted his leg. "Don't you worry none, son. We're gonna keep you warm and safe all the way back to Hotlanta. You're worth that much to us," he said. 

Tanner rolled his head back. "FBI paying better now?" he asked dryly. 

Buck met Chris's eyes again and gave a slight shrug. 

"Not so much. Private bond, " Buck said. 

"You don't think that's a little unusual?" 

"For half a million," Chris said from the front seat, "I could give a shit." 

Tanner's eyes got wide, the blue clear as the skies overhead. "Are you shittin' me? Hell, for that much, I'd turn myself in!" he said. "Christ! Who the hell was that guy? Governor or something?" 

"The man you killed?" Chris shot at him. 

"I didn't kill anybody!" Tanner spat back. "I don't even know who he was." 

They all said that, protesting their innocence to the end. "His name was Jess Kincaid. Just an old man taking care of some business. What were you doing there?" 

"I was after Eli Joe. That's where he was supposed to be...where I followed him to. Fucking bastard set me up." 

"If he did, he did a hell of a job," Buck said, testing the waters. "Your gun. Your prints. And you...just waiting for the cops." 

Tanner gave a little huff of laughter. "Yeah, that makes a whole lot of sense. Kill somebody and then hang around to make sure everyone knows it. Who put up the reward if it wasn't the state?" 

"Man named Stuart James. Friend of Kincaid's," Buck supplied, fishing a little. "You know him?" Travis wanted to see justice done and while it wouldn't stop Buck and Chris from picking up a nice paycheck, the goons on the street behind them said plain enough that there was still more going on here than appeared. 

But his words didn't loosen Tanner's tongue any. He was staring out the window again, and in the hint of reflection, Buck could see some serious thinking going on. "So, do you know James?" he asked again. 

"Nope. Eli Joe does though," Tanner said. "Went to see him in Texas, just before he headed for Atlanta." 

"Eli Joe knows those shooters, Eli Joe knows James, Eli Joe was at Kincaid's place... What is he, Santa Claus?" 

"He sure as hell ain't that," Tanner replied, low. 

"Why didn't you explain things to the cops?" Chris asked him 

Tanner grunted. "My gun, my prints and me...what would you do?" 

"I'd sit tight and wait for my friends to get my ass out of it," Chris shot back. 

Tanner just frowned, and Chris went silent. Buck did too for a long moment before he shifted forward to lean over the seat and grab his phone. "I'll give Ezra a call...we're gonna need tickets." 

Buck didn't see it coming, barely caught movement out of the corner of his eye before he felt a forearm around his neck, under his throat, cutting off his air, and one of Tanner's hands pressed hard against the side of his jaw. 

Chris braked hard, but Tanner didn't lose his grip and he had a leg braced on the back of the seat. He levered his arm up just that much and Buck felt pressure on his neck, pain lancing along his spine and throat. He tried to wedge an elbow in, heard Tanner grunt but he still didn't let go. "Unlock the doors!" he snapped out. 

The click of a bullet settling into the chamber was the only thing Buck heard beyond the pounding of his heart. He could see it through his graying vision, the end of Chris's little Glock 25. 

"Let him go or I will splatter your brains all over this car and fuck the reward," Chris said, low and fast, the gun less than an inch from Tanner's face. 

Buck felt the pressure ease, sucked in air, and then ducked out from under Tanner's arms. 

"Buck. Get his hands behind his back then get up front," Chris said and the door locks released but Chris kept his aim steady through the time it took for Buck to unlock the cuffs and re-secure them behind Tanner's back. Hazel green eyes locked with blue even as Buck slid out of the back seat. He heard the thud of impact and the fugitive's surprised grunt, and ducked his head down as he slid into the front seat. 

The muzzle of Chris's gun held true, but there was a bright red impact line where skin had split just off center of Tanner's forehead, and Buck knew Chris had swung the butt against the poor fucker's head. "I'm all right," he said, when he door was closed and the locks reset. When Buck turned to check on the guy, he didn't see fear in the back seat, or even anger. Tanner wasn't tense, he was just sitting there as if daring Chris to pull the trigger. 

Maybe even wanting it, Buck thought and wasn't sure where the thought had come from. "Chris," he said, and slowly. "I'm all right." Chris uncoiled, eased his arm back and reset the safety. 

Tanner took a slight breath and smiled faintly. "They still have the death penalty in Georgia," he said. 

Chris jerked back ever so slightly, took a breath and pulled his eyes away from Tanner's. "Watch him," he warned Buck, and pulled back into traffic, sliding the gun to him and very briefly squeezing Buck's hand. He was pale and tense around the mouth, but save for one intense look Buck's way, he kept his eyes on the road.  


**Chapter 3 � _Monday, May 7_**

Buck rubbed his throat and glanced at their prisoner. Tanner met his gaze after a moment. "Sorry," he said and Buck got the impression he was. He also got the impression that killing him hadn't been an idle threat. The man had the training to have snapped Buck's neck, and the grip had been right. He could have done it and then tried to take on Chris. Buck didn't think much of his chances, though. 

Were they better at the end of Chris's gun than they were in Atlanta? 

"You're not winning friends here," Buck said, then had to clear his throat. 

Tanner looked away. Chris's tense face tightened even further. 

"Buck," Chris said tersely, "call Ezra and tell him to get airline tickets for four. We're going back to Atlanta." 

"Guys, you're gonna have a little problem getting me on the plane." 

"Try again," Buck said over his shoulder. "You gonna tell us you're afraid of flying?" He shared a speaking glance with Chris. Somehow, Buck was disappointed in the guy; for half a million, you'd think he wouldn't try the oldest line in the book. 

"No ID," Vin replied, and smiled for the first time since he'd gotten into the car. "Ain't the new flight restrictions great?" 

"Where is it?" Chris demanded. 

"No offense, but you're the ones want me back in Atlanta. I've got business elsewhere." 

"Circle back," Buck instructed, still rubbing at his throat. "It'll be in his car." 

"That'd be awful convenient, if it was," Tanner said mildly. 

Chris pulled over and put the car in park, and Buck had the feeling that Chris was about to kick the shit out of their captive. "Chris," he warned. This guy wasn't a bail surety; they were legally liable for so much more shit if things turned ugly. 

Chris glared at him, then said abruptly, "Fuck it, we'll drive. Call Ezra and tell him to report the hired guns, and see if he can get the cops to move on Whitney's apartment. Tell him he's got until tomorrow before I want him on a plane home." 

Buck eyed him for a long moment before digging out his phone, unsurprised when Chris finally got out of the car and slammed the door shut behind him to pace along the shoulder of the road. 

It took three rings for Ezra to pick up, his "Yes?" short, like Buck had interrupted something. 

"Ez? It's Buck. We got him. Chris wants you to drop a dime and call the locals, see if you can light a fire under 'em and get 'em to toss Whitney's apartment." 

"And what do they get out of it?" Ezra asked. Buck could hear him moving around the hotel room. 

"Guns showed up there a little while ago, maybe they're still there. Whitney's a skip, throw 'em that. Tell 'em people are armed, maybe they'll want to trot out their SWAT team and give 'em some exercise." 

"People with guns, in that section of town? No, really?" Ezra derided. "The police won't waste the gasoline it takes to drive down there for a shooting that doesn't involve injury, at least." 

"Well then, make up something. Just, you know, either don't let them know who you are, or make sure you don't send 'em down there unsuspecting. The cops get shot up, they'll be mighty pissed at you." Buck glanced back over the seat at their prisoner. Tanner had his head down but Buck could see his eyes were still open, that he was listening to every word. Out the rear window, Chris had finally settled against the back bumper and was staring at the road behind them, maybe making sure they weren't followed, maybe contemplating throwing Tanner in the trunk. Could be anything, under these circumstances. 

"Is there any reason we don't just leave local problems to the locals and get on the first flight out of Denver?" Ezra asked. 

After a brief silence, Buck said, "Tanner's got no ID on him. We wouldn't be able to get him on a plane." If the guy were a regular skip, their own paperwork might have been enough, but if the guy were a regular skip he probably wouldn't have tried to snap Buck's neck either, and he sure as hell wouldn't have come so close to succeeding. 

"He has ID somewhere," Ezra pointed out. 

"Yeah," Buck said neutrally. "For some reason, he doesn't want to tell us." 

Ezra failed to restrain a longsuffering sigh. "Surely, Buck, between you and Mr. Larabee, you could persuade him to reveal its location." 

"I'm thinking the kind of persuasion we'd need wouldn't exactly be the best use of our time," Buck said carefully and saw Tanner's chin lift just a little bit. "So, unless you've got an idea where he might ditch it, we'll just have to take the long way home." 

"You're driving?" 

"Unless you're in the mood to charter a private jet." 

"I'm always in the mood for that," Ezra said whimsically, then, "It's at least thirty hours, straight through." 

"We'll stop this evening." They'd have to, as little decent rest as they'd gotten the last few days. "Tell us where we go first." 

"Do I even vaguely resemble Triple A?" Ezra asked with a huff, but Buck only grinned and heard him rustle papers as he pulled out maps and road atlases. A few moments later, Ezra gave him driving directions to the I-70 and assured him they'd run out of gas twice before they had to leave it. Buck dutifully wrote down the directions in his little notepad. 

"So," Ezra said, returning to more urgent business, "the shooters at Whitney's, they're after Tanner too?" 

"Yep." 

Chris climbed back in the car then, looking only slightly less pissed off to the casual observer, but the few minutes had made a difference. He might still have decided decking Tanner was worth it, but not just now. 

"Competition?" Buck could hear the gears turning in Ezra's mind. 

"You could say that... they're not in our field, I don't think. Looked a lot more like associates of Whitney's. They were waiting for him same as us, but they weren't quite so friendly." 

Now that was the understatement of the year. "Be nice to know something more about them, but keep yourself low, Ezra. We've got who we want, the rest isn't worth you getting yourself in a bad situation with no back up." 

"Thanks for your concern," Ezra said, and he sounded sincere. "All right, I'll see what I can do. Just how urgent is this?" 

"Wrap it up, Buck," Chris said with some degree of calm, starting the engine again. 

"Can't say that for sure, Ezra," Buck said, finishing up. "Just do what you can, and get on a flight back to Atlanta tomorrow, okay?" 

"Go first class and it comes out of your pay check," Chris yelled. 

Buck only rolled his eyes and listened to Ezra squawk a little before he signed off and tossed his notepad to Chris, so he could look over the directions. He twisted in the seat to look at Tanner. "Sure you don't want to tell us where to find your ID? Gonna be a long ride handcuffed back there." 

Blue eyes met Buck with a glimmer of humor but an equally hard underscoring of steel. "I like long rides," he said softly, the corner of his mouth twitching up and a faint wince at the pull of skin. 

He settled back, that half smile on his lips that intrigued Buck, but Buck turned around too as Chris pulled the car back onto the road. 

He was starting to think a long ride was only the half of it. 

W&L � W&L � W&L 

Four tension-filled hours later, Chris veered off the interstate at exit 359. The truck stop was big, one of those all-inclusive places with a huge asphalt lot for rigs, a supermarket, a couple of fast food restaurants and showers. "Nice place," Buck observed with some relief. 

"Gas," Chris said tersely. 

"Any chance of a little food?" Tanner asked. They were the first words he'd spoken since they got on the highway in Denver. 

Chris hit the blinker and headed for the pumps. 

"You obviously don't understand how Chris likes to drive," Buck said, trying to lighten the mood. "We'll get some road food, and just count ourselves lucky that this car needs gas." 

Vin frowned, and Buck chuckled in spite of himself. That goose egg on his forehead stood out, but the guy obviously wasn't puking in the floorboards or seeing double, not with the glare he leveled at the back of Chris's head. 

They all got out, Chris to pay for gas and pump it, Buck to stretch his legs and Tanner, presumably, for the same thing. Buck left him leaning against the front bumper, seemingly unaware that people were staring at his handcuffs, and walked back to the gas tank to stand beside Chris. 

"Get through here," Buck said, "and we'll take him to the head together. Do I really need to stock up on food, or are you gonna stop between fill-ups if I ask you to?" 

Chris looked up at him and grinned, shark-like. "Guess we'll have to find out, stud." 

Buck laughed again; something about making $150,000 a day did that to him, and tired as he was, he was elated at the idea of a real vacation. Somewhere cool and beautiful where people didn't wear many clothes. A beach. A resort beach. He'd buy Chris a Speedo, red maybe, make his ass look like the bull's-eye, the grand prize, and stare at it from his view in a lounge chair. 

Tanner moved. He didn't stand, but he straightened enough to get Buck's attention, and Buck followed Tanner's turning head, wondering what he was looking at--just some trucker, coming out of the showers. Fit, actually. Young. Damned good looking for a guy who parked his ass behind the wheel for a living, in shorts and sandals, toweling shoulder-length hair. Buck looked back to Tanner, whose head was still following the guy, and smirked when the light bulb went off. 

"Hey," he whispered, tapping Chris on the shoulder. "Look at that. You thinking what I'm thinking?" 

Chris scanned the pavement and the tiniest smile touched his lips. "Probably not," he said lightly. 

Buck rolled his eyes. "Look at what Tanner's staring at. Hurry up!" he hissed before the trucker pin-up walked behind a line of rigs. "That good looking guy in the shorts." 

Chris raised his eyebrows. "I was right," he said, his voice surprisingly mild, "I wasn't thinking what you're thinking." 

"It's Tanner who's looking," Buck chided, watching the back of their prisoner's head. Yep, as soon as the walked out of sight, Tanner's head swiveled back toward the front of the market. 

"Could look like his brother," Chris commented. 

Buck nodded. "Could. Could look like sex on two legs, too," Buck replied, speculating idly. With two days of hard driving ahead of them, he needed something to occupy himself. This was as good as anything else. 

W&L � W&L � W&L 

The motel outside of Salina looked like it had seen a lot of years, but the parking lot was clean, with enough cars of decent makes and models out in front of the widespread rooms to promise that the place wasn't entirely a dive. Buck stayed in the car while Chris headed in to get them a room. 

With Tanner in the back seat and Chris out in front of the car, it wasn't easy for Buck to watch them both, but he managed it. Chris was walking slow, minimizing the slight limp that resulted from too many hours behind the wheel, but it only tended to put a sway to his backside and that wasn't all bad. Walking would work the stiffness out. 

Once Chris disappeared past the glass doors, Buck turned his full attention back to Tanner. He was awake now, blinking a little. He'd dozed on and off almost the whole trip: Not easy to do with your hands cuffed to the door handle. But he'd offered them no more trouble, and damn little conversation after his burst of chatter when they'd picked him up. They'd stopped twice for gas and food, both of them going with Tanner into the less than hygienic restrooms to let him do his business and then do their own. He'd taken what food and water they'd offered and eaten slowly and deliberately. 

He was looking a little rougher than Buck was feeling; the bruising on his jaw from Buck's punch and the mystery men in Denver had come up dark and bluish-purple, swelling a little, and the goose egg on his forehead had faded, leaving a pale oval bruise around the split skin. He smelled sweaty, and his dark hair lay lank and tangled. "You need a good hosing down, son," Buck said, watching him. He wanted a shower too, but at least he'd had one this morning. Didn't look like Tanner'd had one in a few days. His beard was coming in, lighter brown than Buck had expected. 

"You gonna let me?" Tanner asked, rattling the cuffs against the door handle. 

"You gonna behave? Or am I gonna have to get in there with you?" Buck asked, purposely flirtatious, and grinned when he got a chuckle and a flash of a smile that faded quickly. Tanner bent to rub his jaw gingerly. 

"That's gotta be more fun than this," Tanner said, settling back. "I'll behave. Hell, Eli Joe could be anywhere now...not like I could pick him up in fuck-all Kansas. How's your throat?" 

Buck blinked, rubbed at it. He'd almost forgotten. "It's fine. He'd've shot you, you know." 

Tanner nodded, a shadow crossing his face, his eyes dropping to where his free hand picked loose threads from his jeans. "I know." 

Glancing back toward the hotel lobby Buck commented, "You looked like you didn't care." It had bothered him at the time, watching Tanner, waiting for Chris to settle down--hard to tell if the fight had gone out of their prisoner or if he was really good at playing possum, waiting to catch them off guard. 

"Kind of one and the same," Tanner said after a moment. "Bullet's faster." 

"You ain't been convicted yet," Buck said. 

Tanner gave a small grunt and stretched a little, stopping mid-way and going tense before relaxing. "Important man, _friends_ putting up lots of money...you know how many guys I helped put back into Reidsville?" he said. "You a betting man, Buck?" he asked, the first time he'd used Buck's name. "Only place I'd have less of a chance is in Texas." That seemed to amuse him a little, and Buck settled back, giving it some thought. 

Movement caught Buck's attention, as Chris emerged and headed for the car again. He tossed the room key to Buck. "There's a diner down the street a little. Desk clerk says the food's alright but there's a Dominoes that delivers out here. You call it." 

"Delivery," Buck said, without thinking. As much as he'd like something other than fast food, once they got Tanner settled and set up watches, he wasn't going to want to move. 

Chris nodded, pulled to the end of the row of rooms and parked. He got out first and waited for Buck before opening the rear door to release the cuffs. Tanner didn't do anything but make it easier to unlock him and wait patiently when Chris pulled his hands behind his back again to secure him before gripping his arm to take him to the room. 

The room was an eclectic mix of drab brown and green and gold, with furniture that hadn't been updated in years, but it was clean and smelled only of Lysol and air-freshener. Two double beds shared a nightstand. A narrow desk, two chairs and a wall mounted TV--cable access free--rounded out the room. Chris got Tanner settled on one of the beds, watching him while Buck went back to get their bags. He half thought that while Tanner could squeeze into one of Chris's shirts, neither of them would have jeans to fit him. Tanner was longer in the leg and slightly wider in the hips than Chris, and smaller than Buck all over. They might could loan him a pair of sweats, or else they were going to have to stop and buy him clothes. Maybe there was a K-Mart somewhere close. 

Tanner looked docile as a lamb, harmless as a kitten -- he also looked dog tired. Buck checked out the bathroom. It wasn't horribly tiny, with a toilet and a tub shower combo. The sink was separate in the main part of the room. There was a narrow transom window necessary because there was no venting fan: even someone as skinny as Tanner would have trouble with it. The fixtures were standard, a single temperature control on the shower, and mercy of mercies, a soap dish with a cloth bar, built into the faded and cracked tiles. He gave it a jiggle and it seemed secure enough to cuff Tanner to if necessary, but there wasn't any way out really, save through the door. 

He caught up a couple of towels and brought them back, laying them beside Tanner. "What do you like on your pizza?" 

"Pepperonis, onions, jalapeños," 

"Not in this lifetime," Chris said, eyeing Buck as he pulled out the handcuff keys. Tanner looked almost surprised, but he got up, and let Chris unlock his hands. He caught up the towels but Chris stopped him. "Strip down. Leave your clothes out here," he said. 

Buck almost laughed. Leave it to Chris. He doubted Tanner could get out the window, but he was less likely to try bare-assed naked. 

Tanner only hesitated a few seconds, but it wasn't shyness. He sat down to pull off his boots and socks, then peeled out of the light flannel shirt and tank t-shirt underneath. 

Buck didn't do much to hide his interest, spare as it was. There was nothing to complain about. Tanner was dusky brown from face to chest, smooth skinned, nearly hairless save under his arms and a thin line of fine brown hairs from his navel to under his waist band. There was a lot of muscle hiding under that skinny look; he carried it like Chris did. He looked bruised and battered all over, the dark bruises on his shoulder probably from the take down in the street. There were scars too, older mostly. This boy worked hard for his living. 

White -- or dirty white -- flashed as he shucked off his jeans slowly, and the remnants of a less than clean bandage peeled off from just above the crest of his left hip. The furrow was dark and ugly, puffy at the edges and with that smear of yellow pus that showed a wound too long untended. There was swelling around it, and they didn't need Nathan to know that without care it could turn sour on him fast. 

Chris met Buck's eyes. One of them was going to have to go out, get some kind of antibiotic cream, maybe see if they couldn't get one of Nathan's doctor friends to call in a prescription. They had two days left on the road. "Anybody seen to that?" Chris asked. 

Tanner finished folding his clothes. "Me. It'll hold. I'll wash it out real good. Can I go?" he said, catching up the towel. Chris nodded and Tanner headed to the shower, and Buck thought briefly that if Tanner wasn't shot, dirty, a fugitive murder suspect and worth half a million dollars to him, he could appreciate the ass on the man. The water started up and for the first time, Chris looked like he might relax a little. He sat on the bed, running a hand through his hair. "Flip you for it?" 

Chris could use the walk, but he looked exhausted. "Naw, I'll go," Buck offered. "Just don't kill him while I'm gone." He fingered Tanner's jeans, examining the label to get his size. 

"I won't. Maybe. Unless he does something..." He blew out a breath. 

"We knew he wasn't no Cinderella," Buck pointed out. 

"And I'm no Prince Charming. He's dangerous." 

"He's scared to death," Buck said quietly and Chris's head jerked up. 

"Yeah, he acts it." 

"Not of us...of what's waiting for him in Atlanta and maybe after that." 

Chris got up and paced a little. "Don't go all mush brained on me now, Buck. We just bring 'em in." 

Buck smiled to himself. The accusation wouldn't have come out unless Chris was feeling some of the same thing. "And we will. But I'm thinking on what we know...You know he could be right. They may not look too hard for motive." 

"So, what are you saying?" 

"Nothing. Just talking," Buck said, leaning back on his elbows on the bed. "What are you thinking?" 

"I'm thinking that $500,000 means we won't have to work for the rest of the year." 

"There is that. You want me to wait until he comes out?" He glanced at the room. There was nothing to cuff Tanner to out here. The headboards were solid, and the lamp was free standing. "Gonna need some chain. Hook him to the bed frame. First aid stuff, chain. Anything else?" 

"Bottle of Jack Daniels?" Chris said, grinning at Buck from under his lashes. 

"In your dreams, Larabee. You want me to wait?" 

Chris stared at the bathroom door. "Naw. I'll leave him bare-assed and cuff him. We'll be all right." 

Buck nodded and got up, pulling out his keys, then grabbing a kiss for himself. It lingered a little, and Chris surprised him by relaxing under it and returning it with interest. Reluctantly, Buck pulled away. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do." 

"There isn't anything you won't do." 

Buck chuckled at that, and plastered his hand over his heart. "Ow." He glanced toward the bathroom door. "Could be fun. Keep us from getting bored," he teased, waggling his eyebrows. 

Chris chuckled. "You were looking, weren't you?" 

"Looking's all I was doing. There's just something about a man who stays in shape. And I have a feeling that boy is gonna clean up nicely." 

Chris chuckled again. "Go. I'll order the pizzas." 

Buck kissed him again and let himself out.  


**Chapter 4**

As he heard the rental car's engine start up outside, Chris thought about it. _Clean up fine..._ It wasn't something he was inclined to notice, though he guessed it was true. Underneath the dirt and the sweat and the desperation, maybe. 

He didn't need to notice; that was what he had Buck for. Buck still acted like the horndog he had always been and hopefully always would be, but to Chris's knowledge, Buck hadn't done more than look in four long, good years. Chris had never asked for that, not from Buck. He'd never expected it. As the weeks had turned to months, and the months to a year, it had sunk in that there would be no unexplained nights, no late phone calls, no questions to ask. And that kind of commitment, from Buck, was precious. 

He fingered his cell phone, wanting to call, but shook it off, wondering if he was getting maudlin in his old age. Buck had only left five minutes ago, and they had a job to do. 

Tanner took longer than expected but not long enough for Chris to worry. He could hear him still, the irregular sound of water hitting a moving body. Chris did check once, not surprised to see the transom window open, but the bath was full of steam, and Tanner leaned under the water behind the translucent curtain, just letting the water run along his back. Chris pulled the door halfway shut and leaned on the vanity counter. The little coffee pot waited for him and with nothing else to do, he made up a pot of what promised to be very weak decaf, saving the stuff with the juice for Buck to have in the morning. 

The water shut off and Chris waited until Tanner emerged a minute later toweling his hair dry. He stopped and met Chris's gaze then headed into the room, reaching for his clothes. "Leave 'em," Chris said. Tanner stopped, staring at him, no expression at all on his face, but the pulse at his throat leapt wildly and his fists clenched, body braced for Chris didn't know what. 

"Relax. Finish drying off and turn around." 

There was that much hesitation before he did as he as told, drying his hair and wiping his body down. The wound was bleeding again, enough to leave a smear of blood on the towel. Chris stepped close when his hands were behind his back, closing the cuffs around the already bruised wrists and leaving them slightly looser, then he peeled back the blankets on the bed. "You can get dressed when Buck gets back," he promised, and Tanner settled down. Chris pulled the sheet up, then got a dry washcloth from the vanity and crouched beside the bed, pulling the sheet back that much to press it against the wound. 

"You do this with your own gun?" he asked. 

"My gun, not my aim," Tanner said. "Thank God. Eli Joe can't shoot worth shit. Never could." 

"He your friend or something?" 

"I know him," Tanner sighed, sour expression on his face. He shifted a little, uncomfortable either from the pressure Chris was applying to his wound or from having his hands behind his back. Chris checked it. The bleeding was easing, crusting over. It didn't look as infected as he'd first thought, which was a relief, because it had looked like Tanner needed a trip to an ER. 

Chris backed up and let the sheet cover Tanner again. "Tell me if you get cold," he said and then picked up Tanner's jeans and fished around in his pockets. Buck had frisked him once to confirm that he wasn't carrying a wallet; all Tanner had on him was the gun Buck had confiscated, a mechanical pencil, a money clip with what looked like several hundred dollars in it, and a Quickmart receipt with two telephone numbers written on the back, no area codes. 

"Who am I gonna find if I call these numbers?" Chris asked, waving the piece of paper his way. 

"Depends on where you are, I guess," Tanner answered, congenial but completely unhelpful. 

Chris placed everything but the pencil in his jacket pocket where it hung over the chair, making a mental note to give them to Ezra or the office when he called in. The Quickmart receipt had a Denver address, so they were probably numbers to cheap hotels. Still, it never hurt to check. "You want the TV on?" 

"Nah...don't care if you do, though." Tanner leaned back against the pillows and the headboard and closed his eyes. 

Chris called for the pizza, and got himself a cup of coffee. Although Tanner eyed it, he didn't ask for any, as if knowing Chris wouldn't uncuff him to let him drink it. 

The pizza arrived before Buck did, but not by much, and Buck barged in like Santa Claus, arms full of packages, grinning wide. "I do love having a Wal-Mart on every corner," he said and dropped a small bag of first aid supplies on the end of Tanner's bed, along with a short wide-linked choke collar for a dog. A couple of pairs of jeans followed a package of t-shirts, a safety razor and a toothbrush. 

"What? No underwear?" Tanner asked, a hint of a smile on his face. 

"I'm not a big fan of panty lines," Buck said, his grin growing impossibly wider. Chris caught the startled, wary look on Tanner's face and shook his head; Buck Wilmington had no shame, and Chris was one goddamned lucky man because of it. 

Buck tossed a jar of instant coffee and a paperback to Chris. "Not Ezra's gourmet beans, but it'll keep you going." 

Chris set it aside, digging through the first aid supplies. Tanner only watched as Chris applied a thick swathe of antibiotic cream to the wound then covered it with gauze and tape. He didn't resist when Chris pulled him forward by the shoulder to unfasten the cuffs. "You can get dressed." 

Tanner nodded, but tucked the sheet around his hips and made no move toward the clothes. "Could eat first," he admitted. 

Chris nodded and they settled more or less. Buck had brought back sodas and who all knew what else was tucked into the trunk of the car; enough for a road trip if Chris knew him, and he did. Tanner ate two slices of pizza and drank his cola in the time it took Buck to eat three, go to the john, and splash water on his face. The man was obviously in no hurry to go back into the cuffs. Then he wiped his hands clean and scratched through his damp hair before reaching for the top pair of jeans. He pulled them on, easing them over Chris's patch job, then pulled on a t-shirt. It was a little tight but it would stretch out. He left his socks and boots on the floor and eased back onto the bed. He didn't say a word when Chris ran the dog collar around the metal bed frame, clipped one end of the cuffs through the two rings and the other around Tanner's wrist. He could lay his arm on the bed but he couldn't roll and standing, he'd have to bend over. 

"I'm gonna check in," Chris said. Buck was working on his fourth slice far more meditatively while Chris dialed. When Chris finished letting Josiah know where they were, Buck turned on the TV. 

A half hour later, Chris looked over to find Tanner on his side, sound asleep. His hair was a tangled mess and Chris dug through his own kit to find a small brush, leaving it on the bedside table. 

"He's out," he said quietly and Buck looked over. 

"Smart man. I'll take first if you want." 

Chris nodded again, quiet and thoughtful as he studied Tanner. He pulled off his shirt and shoes. He left his jeans on, and stretched out on the bed next to Buck. 

Buck's hand stroked through his hair and along his back, soothing, the touch so gentle and loving that Chris couldn't help but relax under it. The TV was low, barely a nuisance. He closed his eyes but despite fatigue dogging him just from so many hours and days and weeks on the road, Chris's mind wouldn't shut down immediately. 

Buck was right. Tanner wasn't afraid of them, which meant he'd try and run again, all his cooperation aside. That attempted grab in Denver was evidence enough Tanner was either involved in something else or someone else was after him and probably not for the reward. Whitney seemed to be expecting the men and Tanner, which said a lot, however circumstantial, for Tanner's story. Or Tanner could have colluded with Whitney and one of them changed his mind. Or it could all be an elaborate ruse. There was nothing Tanner had said that could be proved a lie -- but nothing that made him any more honest than the next man. 

But still Chris believed him. Wanted to anyway, and that made him feel like a fool. He was still angry and leftover traces of fear sparked, to see the man asleep in the bed across from him as the same man who had come damn close to breaking Buck's neck. 

And hadn't. 

It wasn't much to go on and the threat of it still felt real. Had been. With a grunt he shifted, opened his eyes and moved to lie across Buck's thighs. He felt his partner's eyes on him, Buck's hand in his hair again as he rested his chin on a curled fist. 

There was still too much cop in him to let it go. He absolutely wanted the money, and maybe Travis had called them because he had confidence in their ability to succeed. But Travis hadn't told him everything, and Josiah's assessment pretty much matched his and Buck's: Tanner's record looked neither suspiciously dirty nor suspiciously clean, and it was hard for a guy to take a bullet while shooting an unarmed person in the back of the head. There was more to it than that, he just knew it. 

The stroking hand slowed, cupped his cheek. "Thinking loud there, pard," Buck said softly. 

"Wondering why Whitney went to see James." 

"If he did." 

"Wouldn't take JD two seconds to see if Whitney flew into Dallas." 

"Dallas is a big city, and Whitney's not a murderer." 

"Is too. Just ain't been caught yet," Tanner's voice floated up from the crook of his arm. 

Buck groaned. "Would you two go to sleep? You're making me miss 'Survivor'." 

"They all survive. One of them makes not enough money to go through all that shit," Tanner said, and Chris's silent laughter jiggled Buck on the bed. 

"You know Whitney's a killer for a fact?" Chris finally asked. 

Tanner lifted his head and propped himself up on his side. "Depends on what you think of as a fact," he said slowly. "If I had evidence he'd be doing hard time. Don't think I haven't tried. This isn't his usual style. He likes to make accidents happen, arson usually." 

"We saw that. He did time for it." 

"For arson. Nobody died in that one." 

"So what do you think happened?" Buck said, turning down the volume on the TV. 

"Don't know it all. That's why I need Eli Joe. But he saw James about something, and then James' 'friend' ends up dead." 

"So...Kincaid had something on James and he hired Eli Joe to make sure it didn't get out?" 

Tanner shrugged. "I don't know. I just figure Eli Joe just saw an opportunity to get me off his ass." 

"You coulda' told the cops that." 

"Coulda'. Wasn't thinking too clearly," Tanner said, lying back. "Maybe not the brightest thing I've ever done. Good for you boys though," he said on a chuckle. "Don't suppose I could wangle a fee out of you? For cooperation? I'm gonna need a really good lawyer." 

Buck laughed at that. "You'd have to do more than cooperate, Vin." 

"I ain't ever put out for cash, Buck," Vin shot back and that made Buck laugh harder. Chris grinned against Buck's leg. 

Vin looked at both of them. "How long you been together?" 

Chris was almost taken aback, but here he was lying on Buck like a favorite blanket and Buck stroking his hair in full view. "Four years. Friends for longer than that." 

Vin nodded, dropped his gaze. "That's got to feel good." 

Chris was still shifting gears, but he knew envy when he heard it. "It does." Buck's hand tightened in his hair briefly then went back to stroking. "Nobody waiting for you?" 

"Couple horses and a dog that ain't mine," Vin said, sliding back down in the bed. "Don't suppose you want to take a side trip to Wyoming? Pretty country." 

"Wrong direction. Atlanta. You'll get your chance, Vin," Chris said, the man's first name strange but oddly comfortable on his tongue. He checked the feeling. It was too easy to get lulled into a false sense of trust with a man as wily as Tanner was reported to be. 

"Guess so. I need to take a piss if it's not too much trouble." 

Buck patted Chris's back and eased out from under him, releasing the chain. Tanner rolled out of bed. There was blood seeping into the white of his t-shirt, just a little spotting. He made his way to the bathroom and left the door open, and Buck settled into a chair so he could see him. When he came back, Buck ambled to the opposite side of the bed. "Might be easier if you lie on this side," he offered and Vin nodded, let Buck chain him to the bed again and curled up. "You want me to look at that?" 

"Naw. It's all right. Feels better anyway," Tanner said. Buck nodded and returned to the bed he shared with Chris. 

Tanner's back to them pretty much precluded any further conversation. He felt Buck behind him, too still, and turned his head. Buck just stared at him, a soft look in his eyes. 

"Thanks," Buck said simply. 

"No more than the truth," Chris replied, holding Buck's gaze for a long silent moment. 

Buck shook his head fondly. "Get some rest." 

"Yeah." 

Buck picked up the paperback and after staring at their prisoner for a few more minutes, Chris slipped into a doze, then into real sleep. 

Buck woke him a little before two a.m. There was a pot of hot water and Chris threw Buck a grateful look before he turned to wash his face. Tanner still seemed to be asleep but Chris wasn't likely to trust his perceptions again. He settled in on one of the chairs and propped his feet up on the bed next to Buck's, picking up the paperback and starting from the beginning. 

Before dawn, Tanner stirred, waking up far more quickly than Chris normally did, casting a blurry gaze around the unfamiliar room before settling in on Chris. His eyes focused and he ran his free hand over his jaw, tried to sit up and found his wrist caught. 

"Bathroom," he muttered, voice huskier and rougher than the night before. Chris was awake though, and he started the coffeemaker for Buck before he approached carefully, keying off the cuff and backing up to let Tanner get to his feet. Tanner rose, hand pressed to the wall for a moment, moving more stiffly than the night before, but he moved, the cuff dangling from his wrist. As with the night before he left the door open, and a soft groan escaped him as he emptied his bladder. 

"Coffee?" he asked when he came out to wash his face. He was speaking softly though, either because he did, or because Buck was still snoring softly in the other bed. 

"Instant." 

"Somethin' wrong with the stuff in the pot?" he asked, still muzzy with sleep and frowning. 

"No," Chris said evenly, and pushed the jar toward him along with one of the motel's Styrofoam cups. 

"Got any sugar?" Chris nodded, pointing to the already opened courtesy pack. Tanner used both sugar packs and one of the artificial sweeteners and then the packet of creamer, holding up the other. "Buck use this?" 

Chris shook his head and Tanner dumped the second packet in as well, his coffee the color of underdone toast. He sipped it appreciatively. "I'd like to grab another shower, if I can," he said. 

"Microphobe?" Chris asked idly. The man looked clean enough to him. 

Tanner shook his head. "Stiff." 

He probably was, sleeping cuffed to the bed after the manhandling the man had taken yesterday not only from him and Buck, but from his four admirers. Chris nodded and Tanner reached to take his shirt off. Chris handed him the towel he had used last night. Tanner stepped into the bathroom to start the water. "I can dress this myself," Tanner said as he pulled off the bandages that had only barely survived the night. 

Chris gave him another nod and Tanner picked up the gauze and cream and tape, then the brush, a small smile on his face. "Thanks. Tends to get a little tangled," he said pulling the brush through his hair as he carried his supplies into the bathroom. The room was already filled with steam. 

Tanner held up his wrist where the cuff still dangled, eyebrow raised in a question. Chris hesitated then unlocked it, pocketing them as Tanner headed into the bathroom. He closed the door but not all the way, leaving a crack. Eyeing the door for a moment, Chris finally moved, going to the bed to start the process of waking Buck. A little shake and a few murmured versions of his name got Buck to roll over. The kiss didn't really wake him either, but Chris was convinced that Buck would still be able to kiss expertly long after he was dead. Ignoring the soft thrill that slid through him, he focused instead as blue eyes blinked open, darker than Tanner's, and a grin stretched the handsome face as Buck stretched up, then oriented himself, glancing at the other bed. 

"He's in the shower again. Stiff..." 

"He might need to share. I need to piss, or something," he chuckled. 

"Or something," Chris grinned, letting his knuckle rub over the bulge at Buck's crotch. 

"Don't get me started," Buck frowned, but the hand that grabbed Chris's wrist didn't push him away. 

Chris smiled in spite of himself. "Made you coffee," he offered, to see if that would get Buck moving. 

That did it. Buck pulled himself up, kissed Chris again and got to his feet, stretching. He took the half-dozen steps to the vanity, working the kinks out of his still sleepy body, and poured from the fresh pot. After a deep, appreciative inhale and a tiny sip, Buck turned to the john and called quietly, "Vin...need to share the potty with you, son," and pushed the door open. "Fucking son-of-a-bitch, damn it all to hell, Chris!" Buck snapped out and Chris was moving before the cursing stopped. 

The water was still running. The glass from the transom window lay neatly on the floor, the small screen was pushed out, and the bathroom was empty but for steam. 

"Son of a bitch!" Chris echoed. "He didn't take his boots. He can't have gotten far." 

Buck didn't have his on either, but Chris did, for all that he was bare-chested. He was out of the room in a shot, running around the back of the building. A copse of trees backed up to the motel, its sparse undergrowth strewn with litter and trash, and Chris stared, trying to detect any sign of movement. The cross street was a hundred feet away, and the other end of the motel was separated from the adjacent businesses by a slat and chain-linked fence. 

Buck joined him, shoes on, and thrust a shirt into Chris's hands as he headed into the wood, ignoring the whipping branches and checking the ground for any hint of trail or tracks. Chris headed for the street, shirt in hand, stopping to shrug it over his shoulders as he checked both sides. There wasn't a whole lot along the stretch of highway, and even less cover back toward the exit, but in toward town, the copse of trees gave way to small businesses. 

"Fuck..." Chris said, rubbing a hand through his hair. Still, Tanner really couldn't have gone far. He was barefoot, and he couldn't run far without shoes. 

"Buck! Car!" he hollered, heading back. 

He cursed the whole way, glancing quickly around the room and grabbing up the keys. They could come back for the rest. He locked the door and jumped in the car, pausing at the end of the buildings long enough to let Buck in. "Which way?" he asked, too angry at himself to make a decision. 

"Head toward town. Did you frisk him? Did he have any cash?" 

"Yeah, and it's in my jacket," Chris said with grim satisfaction. "He's got no ID, he's not renting a car or getting on a plane, that's for Goddamned sure." 

They drove slowly enough to irritate other pre-dawn drivers, checking both sides of the road. After ten minutes, Chris was fuming. There weren't that many places to hide but it was enough unless they canvassed the area on foot. Most businesses weren't even open yet, and there was along stretch of wooded road before they actually got to the main drag where Buck had found the Wal-Mart. 

Buck pounded the dash with his fists. "Jesus. How can a man disappear in two minutes?" 

It had been more like five, but Chris didn't know either. He turned the car around, heading for the highway. "Maybe he's hitching," he said, not voicing the thought that in the ten minutes they'd been looking, Tanner could have found a ride. 

It took them another twenty minutes to check the highway up to the next exit and then back again, and both of them were silent and near seething with frustration. Chris pulled back into the hotel parking lot, in front of their room and cut the engine. 

He took a deep breath and slammed his hand against the steering wheel before getting out of the car, barely turning his head when Buck got out. 

"Chris..." Buck called him, but Chris was too busy being pissed off at himself for not being more on his guard, for letting himself be betrayed by the gut feeling that told him he could _trust_ Tanner, and had guided him so incredibly wrongly. They'd have to start all over, try to figure out where Tanner would go. 

"Chris." He jerked his head around to find Buck standing in front of their door. At first Chris thought maybe he didn't have his key, but as he straightened up, he realized that wasn't what Buck was staring at. 

The door was closed, but old as it was, old as the motel was, it hadn't held up at all to the determined efforts of their prisoner. Ex-prisoner. 

The simple lock was shattered. The wood had splintered, a good-sized rock close by the only tool needed. Buck pushed the door open. 

The room hadn't been trashed, but Buck's clothes were piled neatly, more or less, on the bed. The extra clothes they'd bought Tanner, the first aid supplies, the last two sodas, a bottle of water and the Cheetohs Buck had brought in were also gone, along with Tanner's boots and socks. On top of Buck's clothes was a worn hundred dollar bill. He'd taken Buck's hand-tooled leather duffel. 

Chris stared for a long minute at the signs, fuming again at the arrogance of the man before turning around and heading back outside. Tanner had been watching them. The fucker had watched them and waited while they hauled ass on a wild goose chase then strolled back in, calm as you please, gotten what he'd needed and strolled away. 

He circled the building, coming up behind their unit and staring up at the transom and down to the ground. It was about an eight foot drop \-- hardly a barrier to someone determined to get away. On his toes, Chris could barely reach the window, which still looked too small for anyone to fit through. He gripped the sill and ran his hand along it, coming back with a few long strands of hair, and dropped back. 

Looking up again, he saw what he hadn't before -- what he hadn't even looked for: smudged dirt along the slight over-thrust of the roof. It jutted no more than eight inches out, just close enough for a man to grab and haul himself upward. 

It would be tough, but nowhere near impossible for anyone with upper-body strength, as long as they could fit through the window. Chris cursed Tanner's slim physique. At least the bastard had gone through that with a bullet in his side, and that fact gave Chris a vicious comfort deep in his belly, a feeling that tried hard to make up for his fucked up instincts. He looked along the back wall -- there was probably a ladder somewhere to get up there, for the A/C units to be serviced. 

With a softer curse of disgust he headed back to the room. 

Buck was sitting on the bed, looking as disgruntled and tired as Chris felt. 

"He was on the roof," Chris said, leaning in the open doorframe, fingers scratching at the splintered wood. They'd have to pay for the breakage. 

Buck lifted his head, stared then dropped it back, banging his head lightly against the headboard. He stopped after a moment when Chris slid down to sit on the doorsill. "He took my bag. The shit," Buck said and picked up the hundred. "Worth more than this." 

"Didn't cost that much, don't worry about it," Chris said. 

"I didn't say what it cost," Buck said mildly, "I said what it was worth." 

Chris glanced up, met his partner's eyes for a long moment and then looked away again when Buck's grin started to appear. "On the roof?" 

"Yup. Watching us the whole time." 

"He's good," Buck said, unable to keep the admiration out of his voice. 

"He's a pain in the ass." 

"That too. He still can't have gotten far. Hell, he's only got maybe twenty minutes' head start." 

Chris shook his head. "Far enough. He could have just hitched a ride and checked into another hotel. Stolen a car. Christ, Buck, he could be still up there for all I know." 

"Yeah, but what do you think?" 

Chris leaned back, squinting a little at the brightening sunlight, thinking they should have stayed in bed last Friday and ignored the phone. "I think when we catch him again, I'm chaining his hands to his ankles." 

Buck laughed. "With or without his clothes on?" 

Chris's eyes narrowed, but he grinned too. "With. Asshole." He pushed himself up. "Get your gear together and grab a shower if you want one. I'll call it." 

"I can do it," Buck offered but Chris shook his head. 

"I lost the son of a bitch. I need Ezra to get us reservations anyway." 

Buck got up, stripping off his shirt. "Spill it. Where are we going?" 

"Wyoming." 

"He's gonna know better than to go home," Buck hazarded. 

"Can't think of anyplace else right now. Might as well follow that through and see what we can find out there." 

Buck cocked his head, a frown marring his face as he tried to look inside Chris's brain. "Cut the shit. What do you think you're going to find, Chris?" 

Chris shook his head and fessed up. "Probably nothing. But what he said, about us, that it must feel good... I don't think he has anybody, anywhere else to go." 

"He could have been bullshitting us, too." 

"Could have." Chris caught Buck's eyes and held them. "Do you think he was?" 

Buck pursed his lips for all of a second, then answered, "Nope." 

"Right. And we've got to start somewhere." 

He could see Buck turning that over in his mind, find no real flaw in it and nod then take two steps toward the bathroom before he paused. "Since he's gone, you know," Buck grinned over his shoulder, "you could join me in here." 

"I don't even want you to waste the time it'd take to pull your pud. No kidding, we need to move." 

"Now that's harsh, man," Buck said, sidling toward him. "Asking me to concentrate on the job when all I want is--" Chris blocked Buck's groping hand and danced out of reach. Buck sighed dramatically and turned back for the bathroom. 

Chris grinned at his lover's retreating back and took his place on the bed, then started dialing.  


**Chapter 5 � _Tuesday, May 8_**

They were checked out within an hour, left money enough to cover the door repairs with the desk clerk, grabbed breakfast at the diner and hit the highway. It was a few miles before Buck glanced back and then at him. "I think Wyoming is the other way." 

"It is. Wichita Falls." 

"Uh huh..." 

Chris grinned. "Airport. We'll get there before him. If that's where he's headed. Fly into some local airport and drive to Lander." 

"Ahh..." Buck said and turned around again, staring. A few minutes later he looked again, then at Chris. 

"I see it." 

"How long?" 

"Since we left the motel," Chris admitted. He hadn't been sure, until Buck started watching too. 

"There last night?" 

Chris shook his head. "Not that I noticed. Saw them this morning off the exit though." He chewed on his lip a second before glancing Buck's way. "If they'd been at the motel, they wouldn't be following us now, would they?" The question was rhetorical, and Buck ignored it. "Looks like the same car that was in Denver," Chris continued. 

Buck grinned. "At least we got to sleep in a bed. Maybe they've been trawling the highway exits all night." The thought seemed to amuse Buck, enough that he chuckled, low. Then, "So we're going all the way to Wyoming with these assholes on our tail." 

"Yup." 

"If Vin is there, we'll be leading them right to him." 

"So?" 

"They want to kill him." 

"Oh." Chris hadn't realized how pissed he still was until he'd heard Buck use Tanner's first name. "We'll just have to keep 'em from doing it then," he grudged. 

"They may want to kill us if we get in their way." 

"Maybe. But I don't think whoever's behind this wants to leave a string of bodies from Atlanta to Wyoming. Safety in numbers." 

"You think he's innocent." 

Chris resisted the urge to chew on his lip; Ezra had warned him of the tell months ago, and he'd realized Buck had always known to look for it. It didn't matter what he thought; he had no evidence to back it up, and he wasn't willing to give enough voice to his opinion to make it any more real than it already felt inside his head. Not yet. "I think he's worth half a mil is what I think. And that we've never yet collected on a corpse." He grinned then, and raised his eyebrows. "You'd hate for me to start with one that cleans up nicely, wouldn't you?" 

Buck smirked. "Not enough beauty in the world, is what I say." 

It wasn't, really; Buck found beauty in the plainest, simplest of things. "Yeah," Chris said anyway, sobering as he glanced again in the rearview. "Ezra's going to Lander with us." 

"Oh, he's gonna love that..." Buck said on a laugh, and pointed his thumb toward the car behind them. "You think Eli Joe is with those two?" 

"I don't know," Chris replied, turning it over in his head. "I'd like to know where their buddies are, as well." 

Buck chewed on that for a moment. "That's a problem, no doubt... Chris, what if he isn't going to Wyoming?" 

Chris shrugged. "I hear it's pretty country." 

"Uh huh..." 

When Buck was quiet for long enough, Chris glanced over, but Buck was just staring at him, handsome face placid and tender and... and interested, like he'd forgotten about the guys with guns behind them. "Hey." He snapped his fingers in the air. 

"I'm here," Buck reproved with a grin. 

"What got you started this time?" Chris asked anyway, as happy for the distraction, maybe, as Buck was. Maybe they should have stayed a little longer in that hotel after all...not that he'd have been any good for either of them; he'd have spent the whole time in the shower staring at the open transom window. Damn Tanner's slippery hide. 

Buck cleared his throat. "Pretty country." 

"Tanner? Or Wyoming?" he needled, unsure yet if he liked the easy way Buck had with the guy. 

"Wyoming," Buck said in a huff. "And you. Are you trying to be a prick this morning?" 

Chris sighed and leaned back a bit, then extended his hand across the seat to slide it between Buck's thighs. The strong legs squeezed tight, trapping his fingers, and he left them there, massaging the muscle in mute apology. "Where else could he head?" Chris asked then. "Texas, to go after James? If Tanner's telling the truth then James is more dangerous to him than Eli Joe. If Whitney was at the murder scene in Atlanta, then Tanner needs him to help clear himself." 

"Yeah, and if my mother had balls she'd have been a lousy hooker," Buck said mildly. "Whitney's got no reason to cooperate if it implicates him in the murder. And he's not gonna go to Tanner's house either." 

"Where do you think we should go, then?" 

"Home?" Buck said, then continued before the suggestion could rankle Chris. "We'll go to Wyoming. But Chris, if he's lying, he could be on his way to the border by now." 

"Yeah..." 

Buck sighed. "And if he isn't, then Whitney needs to cover his tracks. He needs Vin more than we do." 

That was what Chris had been thinking. _If_ Whitney had set Tanner up... "If Whitney's the shooter, he didn't plan the frame very well. Tanner's got no history of violence to speak of, and friends in the US Marshals to vouch for him." 

"Vin was supposed to have bled out right beside Kincaid, Chris," Buck reminded. Then, "He might have been safer with us." 

Chris wondered exactly when their suspect had become "Vin" to Buck's mind. "Yup." 

"Did you call the judge while I was in the shower?" 

"Yeah." 

"Tell me you didn't spin him any of our fairy tales yet." 

"Can it, Buck." 

"So you did," Buck groaned. 

"Orrin's in better position to help us than anybody else," Chris reminded, "and I figured the more he knew, the less he'd let slip if he's talking to James much right now." 

"Bet he's not happy." 

"Neither am I," Chris said and tugged his hand out from between Buck's thighs. "Neither am I." 

"But you being pissed off," Buck pointed out, and retrieved his hand, "I'm used to." 

W&L � W&L � W&L 

They paid a huge premium to ditch the rental car in Wichita Falls, almost as much as the tickets back to Denver. 

Two hours later, after several irritatingly correct pronouncements from Buck that they could have stayed in bed if only Chris had called a travel bureau instead of Ezra, they boarded. 

Chris had felt marginally vindicated when the car had shown up, circling in the passenger loading and unloading lanes. Things felt a little more serious when a face Chris recognized from his last survey with the binoculars passed by them in the terminal, so neither of them even risked going to the toilets. They lounged within clear view of the security checkpoint until their flight was called. Twenty minutes after that, they were in the air. 

"You know," Buck muttered, "I hate flying." 

That got Chris's head up. "What? You love flying." 

"Used to," Buck said, his eyes a rich blue from the angled sunlight. 

Chris pursed his lips, casting back on the last few hours and his own moodiness. He reached out a hand and laid it over Buck's on the arm rest, rubbing his fingerpads over the webbing between Buck's fingers, meditatively sliding his fingertips down between Buck's own, so that they were forced to spread a little. 

Buck flinched after a second. "Stop that." 

"Why?" 

"Tickles," Buck said irritably. But he didn't move his hand. 

In other circumstances, Chris would have laughed; Buck was one of a very few people he knew who got horny when he was nervous. For now, he was glad that Buck's itchiness was manifesting itself in such small ways. "You want me to get you one of those coloring books they have to occupy kids?" he offered. 

"Keep that up and I'll get my own flight out of Denver," Buck groused, "straight back to Atlanta." 

"Okay," Chris sighed, "what's really bothering you?" 

"Nothing." 

Chris laid his head against the seat and waited. When he heard a hard exhale, he opened his eyes. 

"How about the fact we're on a wild goose chase?" Buck asked quietly, leaning in. "Or that we don't know where the rest of those guys following us are. Or _who_ they are." A long pause, as Buck chewed lightly at the edge of his upper lip. "Or that maybe those assholes don't have any more idea where Tanner is than we do, and they're headed to Lander too?" 

"Let 'em," Chris said. "Hell, I'm hoping they flush Tanner out for us." 

"Wouldn't mind that," Buck said mildly, "just as long as we're the ones who catch him. Ezra find anything out about the bad guys?" 

Chris shrugged; he'd thought about it, and decided that the gains outweighed the risks. No sense disappointing Travis, he gave them most of their business. No sense passing up a shot at the biggest payoff they'd ever see. "No. Nothing to worry about, though; we're smarter than they are." 

"We haven't been yet," Buck taunted with a grin. 

Buck was right to want their bases covered, and Chris knew it. "We grab Ezra, break into Tanner's place and see if we find anything useful there. If we don't turn up anything, we go home and--" 

"Bullshit." 

"We go home," Chris continued as if Buck hadn't said anything. 

"Bullshit," Buck repeated. "I know you. If we're going there, you're gonna want to stay there for as long as we can." 

Chris looked at him, not for the first time resenting that it was hard to hide from Buck. "Okay," he conceded, "while we look for other leads on him, we stake it out a few days--" 

"One day," Buck countered, in full negotiation mode. 

"Three," Chris countered, trying to cooperate, "and if he doesn't show, we tell Travis it's a bust, haul ass back to Atlanta, and see if we can find one last long shot to try before the deadline for the reward is up. Okay?" 

Buck's hand turned against his, and Chris took it, squeezing gently to seal the deal. He had a bad feeling about this. 

* * *

[[Index](http://assignations.org/skiptrace/)] [[Next](http://assignations.org/skiptrace/st6_10.html)]

  


The Magnificent Seven and it characters @ MGM, the Trilogy Entertainment Group, the Mirisch Corporation and TNN, and was developed by John Watson and others.   
  
---  
  




	2. Skip Trace - The Big Score: Chapter 2

SKIP TRACE: THE BIG SCORE  
By Charlotte C. Hill and Maygra 

Universe: Skip Trace - This story frames a new AU where Chris and Buck are life partners running a bail bond agency out of Atlanta.

Acknowledgements: Many thanks to Megan for morale and editorial support, as well as a few scenes .

Pairing/Characters: C/B, Vin, Ezra, cameos by the Nathan, Josiah & JD

Rating: NC17 (We mean, seriously...look who's writing this thing!)

Ingredients/warnings: Sex, often gratuitous but loving (because we can and because Buck begs so pretty). Vintage Camaros, Mustangs, and Ford two-tone trucks. Obligatory references to grits, sausage biscuits and Krispy Cremes (because, hey, it's set in Atlanta.) Stereotyped southern lawmen, stereotyped kindly US Marshalls, vague references to Native American ancestry and Dominoes Pizza (although not in the same sentence). Gucci shoes and Armani suits (because we only gave Ezra a little part and he counter-offered back for a better wardrobe.) Car washing, granola bars, cattle ranches in Wyoming, ex-lovers, and last but not least, beating up Vin because he wasn't getting any and Maygra pouted.

Feedback: yes, please, any kind, on or off list to charlottechill@yahoo.com and maygra@bellsouth.net. 

  
Chapter 6  
They missed the last flight out of Denver. Chris was furious when he turned on his cell at the gate and received the message, but at least Ezra met them curbside at the airport waving tickets for a 7:05 a.m. departure the following day. They'd be boarded before rush hour traffic got thick. Chris spent most of the night tossing and turning, trying to get inside first Tanner's head, then Whitney's, then this James multi-millionaire who JD had dug up some background on, then Orrin Travis's. Travis knew everyone but Whitney, had met Tanner once before, eaten dinner with Kincaid three weeks past, gone to college with James. It wasn't enough to make anything of, but it was sure as hell enough to keep him awake.

Ezra slept like a log in the room's second bed. Buck was more accommodating, rising slowly to the surface every couple of hours to whisper a half-awake question, or tug him closer, before sliding back into the depths of sleep. He'd be pacing, burning up energy he might need later, if he didn't know it would wake Buck. As it was, he remained still in Buck's arms and tried to let his body rest, if not his brain.

Damn it, everything could be coincidence. Tanner, Whitney or James could be a killer. Maybe all three.

But whatever Tanner was, he was worth half a million dollars, and he was headed for familiar territory. Chris just knew it.

How he knew it was a big part of what kept him awake all night.

When the digital clock on the nightstand ticked over to 4:29 a.m., he gave up and rolled out of bed, heading for the shower and standing under the hot, weak flow for long minutes, climbing out only seconds after Buck climbed in and tried to find a temporary home for his morning erection. Buck's quiet laughter followed him out of the steam-filled room, and Chris wished he had time for it, attention for it. His brain was caught in a cat's cradle, spinning down every possibility it could envision, too many of them ending up with the business out thousands of dollars and Tanner soaking up rays and chugging Coronas on a Mexican beach somewhere.

Traffic at the airport was a bitch, as was the woman who checked their tickets at the door of the plane.

By the time they arrived at Riverton Regional, Chris was so far past "on edge" that he was grating his molars together to keep his mouth shut. He kept forgetting why he didn't like air travel with Ezra until after the airplane door was sealed. The first diatribe was always about their coach seats. The second was about the general fall of civilization that now permitted the middle class to travel by plane; he'd have preferred they were all stuck on Greyhound. Cattle cars would probably be even better.

It wasn't worth reminding Ezra that "middle class" would have been a step up for him and his grifter mother; that would only get Chris a long, annoying monologue on the nature of class structure, and how money wasn't the true definition. It was the argument Ezra used whenever he was particularly short on cash, and Chris knew for a fact that he was right now, because JD had poked around and learned that Ezra had been to Atlantic City three weeks back and lost a ton of it.

Chris had called locksmiths in to change the combo on the safe, just to protect Ezra from himself.

He wasn't sure who was going to protect Ezra from him, though, if this kept up. And the flight was only an hour and a half long.

Before the plane stopped at the gate, Chris volunteered to get the rental car, and wanted to kiss the old woman behind the counter when she showed him on the little twelve-inch map that Lander was less than thirty miles away. Instead he tried to charm her, pulling out a smile and a couple of Buck's old lines to get directions to the nearest gun store; he wanted to stock up on ammunition. In afterthought, he requested details on how liquor was sold in Wyoming; if he let Ezra drink in the back seat, he might quiet down. But Chris doubted it.

A half hour later they were back in the car, and Ezra, even as he unscrewed the cap on his pint bottle of scotch, said ominously, "I know what you're doing."

Chris had opted for the back seat himself, to stretch out a little. Buck, behind the wheel, shook Ezra's shoulder in a friendly but transparent effort to make him spill his drink. "Lighten up, Ezra. He bought you a present."

Ezra barely wasted time sneering, and Chris was just glad the bottle kept him quiet.

"C'mon, keep it out of sight," Buck chided. "This ain't Texas."

Ezra subsided, and Chris sat up straighter, trying not to let the rocking of the car put him to sleep. "We need survey maps," he muttered.

"Aerial images would be good," Ezra added, "not that anyone would want to photograph this wasteland."

"Not gonna find 'em in Lander," Buck said distractedly. "We could go on over, get a motel. I can drive back later."

Chris scrubbed at his eyes. "Let's get it done now."

They found the gun store, and got great directions to a tourists' hiking and camping store that stocked a good selection of six-minute-interval topo maps. Chris ended up with a couple of those, and a street map that showed the road that supposedly led to Tanner's house. They got out of Riverton and to the target city before 11 a.m., and since they couldn't check into the hotel until three o'clock, decided to do a quick drive-by.

The roads weren't marked. They got lost twice and had to loose Ezra to bullshit the locals, pulling out their maps and asking for their specific location, amongst rocks and trees and a whole lot of nothing. They couldn't ask outright, because in towns like these, "Where's Vin Tanner's place?" was bound to be met by gossip at best, and suspicion at worst, and they couldn't afford either one. By one o'clock, they idled the rental slowly down an old road that might have claimed it had been paved since World War II, looking for anything to give them a sign. It came in the obvious, in the overt: a big black mailbox with gold peel-off numbers affixed to its side stood beside what they hoped like hell was Tanner's drive way. Half a mile later Chris stopped in the middle of the dying gravel road.

The house wasn't what he had expected, but so little of Vin Tanner was. It was more cabin than "house," and it might have been ten years old, or eighty. A wide front porch and windows on two sides leant it a decidedly "frontier" feeling, and Chris wondered whether there was actually running water in there. All it needed was a wisp of smoke curling from the chimney and an old lady in a rocking chair on the porch, knitting something, to complete the effect. What it didn't look like was the home of a west Texas ex-Army sniper who'd been well liked by his squad members and half of the U.S. Marshals in the region.

Who lived like this these days?

"Awful quiet out here," Buck sighed contentedly.

"There could be fifty houses over any hill," Ezra said, dismissing the possibility that any man would choose to live somewhere like this.

Chris looked around, spotting obvious elevation gains to compare against the topo map. "Back over that hill I think, it's gonna be thousands of square miles of nothing. National forest. Indian reservation to the north. Looks like the ranch this house backs right up against both."

"Reckon he knows the forest rangers?" Buck asked.

"Man like him?" Chris nodded, frowning a little. "Probably. Nobody else out this way to talk to really, except maybe the people who work this ranch."

"People work here?" Ezra demanded, askance. "Doing what, exactly?"

"Growin' them steaks you like so much," Buck said. "C'mon, let's go poke around."

"We can't leave the car on the road," Ezra said, his voice cool and professional as if he hadn't been griping steadily for the last three hours. "And we can't leave traces of our presence outside if he's as good as his jacket says he is."

Buck looked back and they met eyes, making decisions. "Ezra," Buck said softly, "you can break in there, no problem. Right?"

Chris smiled.

"I can't imagine why not," Ezra replied.

"How about you and me go in there and poke around. We can check the cell coverage, and if it's any good then Chris can head on back to the motel and get some shut-eye."

"What about my shut-eye, Buck?"

"You got a room to yourself night before last, and your own bed last night," Buck pointed out reasonably, and Chris leaned back to let his lover handle the man. Buck was as good at cajoling as Ezra was at conning, really. "You were asleep every time I woke up last night, and I doubt Chris slept at all," Buck added, hooking his thumb toward Chris.

Ezra turned around in the front seat to stare at him; Chris just shrugged. "Thinking too much," he admitted, giving Buck a hand instead of trying to lie, as he might have if they'd been out alone.

"Besides," Buck went on, "you're the only one who can break in."

"If the place is locked at all," Ezra muttered. "If there's anything worth breaking in for--all right, fine. Five hundred thousand dollars." He opened the car door.

"There ya go, Ez," Buck praised. He climbed out of the car himself, careful to keep his size twelves on the compacted gravel of the road.

Chris stepped out of the back seat and eased the door closed. "Where's the dog?" he asked, not interested in taking Ezra to a hospital for rabies shots.

"It can't live here when he's gone. Maybe it stays somewhere else."

"Yeah. Or maybe it's wandering and will stroll back any time." Taking a good look around, he sought potential hiding places that he might use when he came back. Or places Tanner might use... his eyes scanned up restlessly, toward the rocky earth and old growth forest that defined this land. Tanner would know it; damn it, he'd know every inch.

Ezra picked his way along a gravel path without disturbing a pebble, and Chris shook his head in admiration. Ezra liked to make noise, but his skills had never been in question. "Look at him," he said, nudging Buck's shoulder. "Looks like an Indian Guide."

"Little Weasel," Buck named him, and Chris snorted.

Then, "I want a look inside before I go." Tanner was under his skin, irritating like itching powder, and would stay there until they caught him again; Chris was still berating himself for letting the man escape.

"Yeah," Buck agreed, as if he had expected it; Chris glanced up and caught a knowing, indulgent look in his lover's eyes.

"Fuck you," he said, embarrassed.

Buck clapped a hand to his shoulder and flashed all his teeth. "Anytime." But he dropped the act just as quickly and followed Ezra, picking his way carefully around to the cabin's back porch.

Ezra and Buck were already inside by the time Chris opened the screen door.

"It wasn't locked?" he called into the dimness. The air smelled stale, and old, like oil and dry rot.

"It was," Ezra's voice called from deeper inside. "A Master lock on the padlock hasp, and a standard deadbolt on the door proper."

Chris waited for his eyes to adjust, and it seemed to take a long time. He really was tired.

Dim rays of afternoon sunlight filtered through heavy curtains, highlighting particles in the air. A tiny kitchen was situated to his right, the sink faucets indicating running water. There must be a well. The tiny stove had gas burners. Propane? he wondered, and an old refrigerator hummed in the corner. Rough wood cabinets ran along four feet of the wall that separated kitchen from living room, floor to ceiling. The wall to his left bisected the cabin, and by looking straight ahead into the gloom Chris could see light seeping in beneath what must be the front door. Buck was in the front room, and the open doorway to the left led to where Ezra was banging around.

"Ezra?" he called out.

"The bed's comfortable enough," Ezra's voice trailed back. "Looks like a foot locker, maybe a gun safe, in the closet. Nothing of value so far but I'll open that in a bit."

"Don't steal anything," he warned. "Breaking and entering is still a crime out here, you know, and I don't want him trying to press charges from his jail cell."

"Oh?" Ezra's head stuck out from the doorway, and his teeth flashed, a slash of white in the shadowed face. "Did I say the house was locked? My mistake. Wide open." He ducked back to his explorations before Chris could do more than sigh.

Chris grimaced, pushed the door shut and took the three steps to pass the kitchen; the place felt alive, even though it was so obviously unoccupied: lived in, and isolated.

Buck stood at an old stone fireplace, staring intently at items on the hearth.

"What do you see?" Chris asked him.

Buck's wide shoulders hitched up. "Who he is. Thinks he is. Picture of him and some guy, Indian. Old. Picture of a woman and a kid, maybe him. There's a display box of medals here that was turned face down."

So Tanner had a friend once, possibly a mother, and he hadn't loved his military service, even though he couldn't pack the shit away. Chris pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to get his brain working.

"You okay?"

Buck's voice, so close, startled the hell out of him. He jerked, stumbled even as Buck reached out to steady him.

"Hey, come here," Buck soothed, and Chris relaxed into the embrace, trying to get his head together.

"Tired?" Buck whispered.

Freaked out. He was guessing, pulling answers out of his ass, and Buck had to know it. "Yeah," he said anyway.

A toilet flushed, the sound carrying clearly through the small cabin, and Buck stepped away just before Ezra returned to the living room.

"Water's on," Ezra announced unnecessarily. "I don't think he planned to be gone long."

"If there's food in the kitchen, you can just leave Ez and me here."

Chris retreated to the back door and leaned against the frame while Buck opened cabinets. "Beans, chili--hey, he likes albacore," Buck carried on a running commentary as he pulled preferred foods out and set them on a butcher block. "Yeah, we can get along here for a few days easy."

"That's theft too," Ezra jibed, though there was no heat in his words.

"Cells work?" Chris asked, ignoring him.

Everyone dutifully pulled out his phone, and after they successfully called each other, each of them in turn called the office.

"Well," Chris said, not wanting to voice the obvious. "Might as well bring your stuff in. We'll pack out when we leave."

"I don't have a bag," Buck said pointedly, still distracted with the cabinets. He cheered when he found the candy bars.

"Come on," Chris repeated, "and get your stuff out of the car so I can go."

Ezra left first, his eyes on the gravel path. "Fine, fine," he muttered to himself.

Once at the car, Buck popped the trunk and handed Chris back the keys.

"Stay inside and keep the curtains closed," Chris ordered quietly. "If he spots you he'll never come in."

"That's if he comes here at all." Buck grabbed the parachute bag he'd bought at a truck stop. "Call us when you wake up."

Ezra moved between them and grabbed both his Fendi knock offs, and the computer case. "Back out, if you can, Chris. Fresh tire marks will stand out in that earth like a flag."

Chris felt his stomach tighten from too much coffee and adrenalin, and not enough action or sleep. He had a weird feeling about Tanner, and all he had to do to shake it was to remember the guy's elbow locked around Buck's throat. "Just remember he's not as friendly as he seems."

"I resent that," Ezra said.

Buck chuckled as he slammed the trunk lid. "He's talking about the target, Ezra."

Ezra looked between them. "After you, Mr. Wilmington," he invited, jerking his shoulder toward the path.

Chris grabbed Buck's arm. "Go on, Ez," he said quietly.

Ezra frowned slightly and began to pick his way along the path once more.

Buck turned to look at him, a question in his eyes. "What?"

Chris watched Ezra for another few seconds, wondering if he'd turn and wait by the porch, wondering if he cared. "Nothing," he said, then stepped up against Buck and pulled his head down for a kiss.

Buck was surprised, he could tell, but the man shifted gears and recovered easily enough. Chris reveled in the brush of mustache and the soft velvet of lips and tongue, until Buck drew away.

"You okay?" Buck asked softly.

"Yeah. Just tired," he said again. "You be careful."

Buck's thumb came up and touched his chin. "Stop worrying," Buck chided. "And get out of here before you scare Ezra."

Chris started the engine and stared at the cabin until Buck disappeared around the corner, then headed off to find the hotel.

Wheedling the motel clerk for an early check in, Chris locked and chained the door, plugged in his cell phone charger and fell face-first across the nearest bed, sure Tanner wouldn't make it here for a day at minimum, probably two or three--if he was coming at all.

He ought to dig out his sneakers and go for a run later, bleed off some of this tension.

The bad guys were more of a concern. Ezra had booked the flights out of Denver, and while anybody who could afford to stake a five hundred thousand dollar reward could afford to do half-way decent surveillance on the cars driving into DIA, it would take time to arrange, so maybe they didn't even knew where to go next. Like as not they didn't, and Chris kept telling himself that so he could get some sleep. He rolled onto his back. He ought to drive back over to Riverton airport, settle in a corner with a newspaper and see who got off the evening arrival; with only three flights a day from Denver or parts east, it would be easy enough to watch out for the shooters, if they flew in. Maybe it was worth it.

He looked at his watch: 2:46. Okay, so he'd need to leave here at six...

Chapter 7 – Wednesday, May 9

Ezra took first watch, claiming that he wouldn't be able to occupy himself in the dark later, and after they had re-locked the back door and Ezra had slipped back in through a window, Buck stretched out on the long sofa and went to sleep.

He had expected to catch a few hours before Chris called, so he was a little confused when Chris shook him awake in the middle of the night.

"Buck," Chris said again.

Buck's hand froze in mid-reach. No, not Chris. Ezra. "Mmmph," Buck mumbled. "Wha timezzit?"

"Eleven." Ezra shined a low-voltage pen light right in his eyes, making him squint badly, but the beam seemed focused enough to risk inside as long as they kept it on the floor, and the light helped him wake up. "Chris call?" he asked, sitting up and feeling around for his phone. He'd switched it to vibrate, but still, the noise against the table should have woken him.

"No."

Damn it. "Coffee?"

"Cold. I brewed a pot before sunset. I'll get you a cup."

Solicitous, he added to his mental list of Ezra-isms, wondering why he was building it and why all the words started with "S."

"Thanks."

He scrubbed at his face as Ezra tiptoed into the little kitchen, his leather soles scraping ever so softly over the raw wood planks. Chris could wait another couple of minutes.

The coffee was tepid, not cold, a difference that was profound and welcome, and he chugged it down, feeling it kick in even as he carefully paced in front of the sofa to wake everything up. "Any more?"

"Half a pot."

"Okay. Thanks for letting me catch the extra rest. I'll give you a chance to wake up on your own in the morning."

Ezra held the light pointed toward the floor and by its dim light, Buck edged his way to the kitchen for more coffee. He listened carefully to Ezra's quiet, detailed report; he'd been busy, or bored, because unless he was exaggerating, there were empty tin cans strung above the edge of each of the six closed windows, shims had been jammed around the seam of the front door to make it feel stuck and herd Tanner toward the back, and vantage points had been selected at bedroom, bathroom and living room windows for the best coverage of field outside the little house.

Ezra had even found a good pair of binoculars while digging around in the bedroom closet, and Buck liked the idea of using Tanner's own equipment against him, sort of a poetic justice, a payback for Tanner's theft of the carryall Chris had bought him two years back.

He walked with Ezra to the bedroom and its tall antique bed, flashing the pen light on the bedcover to find the rough weave of Indian blankets, and wondering just how fast this guy would be able to go native around here. With a reminder not to flush the toilet and activate the water pump, Ezra took off his jacket, thumbed the safety onto his gun then clutched it to his chest like a corpse holding a lily, and settled down for the night.

"Do NOT shoot me," Buck muttered, before he returned to the living room and his empty coffee cup, then walked into the kitchen while hitting the speed dial on his cell phone.

Chris answered on the second ring. "Hey."

The word was soft-voiced, and Buck was relieved that Chris had slept.

"Hey yourself. You were supposed to call when you woke up."

"You guys had my number if you needed me, and I figured you'd let Ezra have the daylight watch, and you'd need your sleep," Chris explained, and Buck sighed contentedly, because they knew each other so well.

"Thanks. Anything happen today?"

"Not much," Chris said, his voice lowering in response to Buck's own hushed tones. "I went back to the airport for the other two flights from Denver, to see if anybody we recognized got off the plane, got the details from JD on the local police, county sheriffs, state troopers, forestry service staff, the tribal council for that reservation and a contact sheet for the US Marshal's office in Cheyenne."

"Kid's good," Buck said approvingly.

"Yep. Then I decided we couldn't use any of it."

Buck nodded. "Yeah. He was pretty damned comfortable with the marshals in those pictures Orrin sent over, and small town cops'll always stick with the devil they know."

"Yeah. I can see about slipping in tomorrow, trading out with one of you," Chris offered.

"Not unless we get cabin fever. The more times we move in and out, the more chance somebody will see us, or Tanner will. Besides, we've got nothing to do but sleep up here. We'll be fine."

A pause, then, "Yeah. You two sit there and wait. If he does us a favor and flies into the airport to get home, I'll grab him, call you, and we'll all get the hell back to Atlanta. If he comes there, you two secure him and call me."

"Sounds like a plan," Buck said. A shitty plan. "A boring plan," he added.

"It's the only one we've got."

W&L • W&L • W&L

Ezra produced a deck of cards and they spent the better part of three dayspelling each other's sleep, playing endless hands of poker, calling Chris and jacking off, always with an ear to the world outside the house, so the distant sound of an approaching car engine on the evening of their third day was more than enough warning. They separated, Ezra going into the bathroom to look out through the tiny window above the toilet, Buck down against the back wall of the kitchen, right in front of the refrigerator where the lengthening shadows covered him but left him with a clear view of the door.

"Is it him?" Buck called quietly.

"Ssst!" echoed back, and Buck took that as a yes, sliding a round into the chamber in case he needed to make a point and relaxing at the sound of gravel crunching on the footpath.

Wood steps creaked. The padlock tapped and jumbled against the door, then metal scraped on metal. A click, the door pushed open, and Buck waited for him to get completely inside the room, but Tanner froze with one foot inside the door and sniffed the air.

So much for easy; Buck cocked his gun and said, as cheerfully as he could manage, "Welcome home, honey."

"Fuck!"

"I wouldn't," Ezra called from outside before Tanner had done more than shift his weight backward, while Buck wondered how the hell Ezra had gotten outside so fast. "Please Mr. Tanner, if you'd join us for a drink and polite conversation? Inside."

Tanner's lips pursed tightly and he glared over his shoulder, then picked up his bag--Buck's bag--and headed in toward the living room.

"Slow down, pard," Buck said, following Ezra as Vin headed casually toward the front door. "And give me back my bag."

"Okay, let me get my stuff out of it--"

Ezra's laughter cut off anything else Tanner might have said. "I think we'll do those honors. Buck? Handcuffs please?"

Buck grinned at Ezra's over-cautious nature where money was concerned, and at Tanner's obvious irritation. "C'mon, Vin, you know the drill," he said, and stepped in front of him so as not to cross Ezra's line of fire.

Vin turned around and eased one hand behind his back. "He's not the trusting type, huh?"

"He just likes to look through other people's things," Buck replied gleefully, clicking the cuff over one wrist and sliding his hand down Tanner's forearm to capture the other.

"Hope you didn't ruffle my porno magazines," Tanner said mildly, and Buck grinned; he really was slick, settling down fast.

"I was unimpressed," Ezra sniffed, which caught Buck by surprise. Ezra hadn't mentioned porn. Because there wasn't any? Or because it wasn't to Ezra's tastes?

"Guess sharing the porn's introduced you two already," Buck began, glancing between them, "but this here's Ezra Standish, one of our team. Ez, you already know Vin."

"From innumerable photographs," Ezra muttered.

As soon as he'd locked the second cuff, he patted Tanner down for weapons, found none, then picked up his bag and moved several feet away to dig through it and dump Vin's crap out of it. "You owe me another hundred bucks for this bag, you know," he said idly.

"You took it back," Tanner pointed out.

"I'm gonna call it a rental fee, since I never loaned it to you in the first place," he grinned, then turned on Tanner's cell phone to check the call log. No calls out since a Denver area code three days ago. Lots of missed calls in, also from Denver. Buck set it aside, then stepped up behind Tanner again, making a big show of sliding his hand over the uninjured hipbone and into his front pocket for the money clip. Tanner stiffened. Ezra made a disgusted sound. Buck peeled off a hundred and threw the rest into the pile of other stuff.

"You'd think for a hundred I'd get more than a feel," Tanner muttered.

"Doesn't even get you my suitcase," Buck shot back.

"You really think you're gonna be hurting for a hundred bucks after you get me back to Atlanta?" Vin asked tiredly, and Buck saw it then, what he hadn't been looking for earlier; the guy was exhausted.

"When that money's in the bank, I'll give it back," he amended reasonably, while he checked Tanner's wallet to be sure there was ID. Not a bad picture, really.

"Excuse me gentlemen," Ezra said, impatience and disgust clearly couched in his voice, "but if this touching reunion is over, can we get a move on?" Ezra hadn't moved a foot further into the room, hadn't lowered his gun barrel an inch.

"He's good, Vin," Buck said. "Don't make him shoot you."

"Don't worry, Buck," Tanner said, and shifted to lean his shoulders against the wall then slide down it, slumping a little, "I won't."

Ezra began to tap his foot impatiently, but Buck was determined to make sure there was no contraband in his bag--he could just see the TSA cops pulling him into a padded room while Tanner strolled away. When he was satisfied that he had located the only gun Tanner had on him, he said "Ez," crossed quickly through his sight line and went to the bedroom. Taking his time because it made Ezra's foot tap all the harder and that amused him, he folded his clothes, packed them away carefully, and put Tanner's stuff in the ten dollar truck stop model.

As soon as he was done, he said, "Well, let's get ready to go on a little trip, huh?" and fished out his phone. Ezra could have called, if he weren't so intent on Tanner and the dollar signs he was no doubt seeing dancing above Vin's dirty hair that he wouldn't lower the gun. Chris was probably in Riverton right now, waiting on the next flight arrival. Maybe he could book reservations while he was there and save them a few minutes later. Or call JD and get him to hack United's system again. Backdating airline reservations, when they had the time, had earned the whole team a little bump in pay within a month of bringing JD on. The kid really was a whiz with the computers; too bad he was so green anywhere else.

"Yeah, Buck," Chris answered almost like he'd been holding his phone in his hand the whole time.

"Got a surprise for you," Buck said, feeling sexy and happy and joyful.

"C'mon," Chris said irritably, "I'm sitting in the airport terminal, you're on the job, Ezra can probably hear every word you say, and we're not gonna do the phone sex thing, so don't even--"

"We've got Tanner."

Irritation gone, cautious elation seeped into Chris's voice. "No shit?"

"Want to say hello?"

"No, I want you to lock him to a drain pipe until I can get there." After a brief pause Chris added, "Flight's late, due in half an hour now. Think it's worth waiting for it, to make sure our friends don't surprise us?"

Buck shrugged. "Probably not. If they aren't here yet, they're not coming. But you could get us tickets, kill the time that way maybe, and take a quick look. Since you're there."

"Okay. I'll see you in an hour or two. And Buck? Good work."

"I didn't do anything," Buck said happily. "He just walked right into my arms. I think he missed me."

Across the room, Vin opened his eyes long enough to cast him a withering glare and a muttered "Asshole."

"You think that about everybody," Chris answered, his voice easier now, almost flirtatious. "Half the time you're right. Okay, I'll see you guys in awhile."

"Yeah." Buck ended the call and dropped the phone into his jacket pocket. "He's in Riverton, he's gonna get plane tickets, make sure we don't have any unwanted company flying in, and then come back for us. Tanner, you gonna behave?"

Eyes still closed, he just nodded tiredly. "Too tired not to," he mumbled, then those clear eyes opened and he added, "for now."

Ezra hrmphed. Buck shrugged. He was used to the guy's cocky attitude, and lord knew, slipping Chris like he had, Tanner could afford to be.

"Mr. Wilmington," Ezra said in his coolest of tones, "I know you like him, but would you mind drawing your weapon while I go and gather up my things?"

"Nah, Ez, go ahead."

"I will," Ezra said calmly, "just as soon as I see the muzzle of your gun pointed at his chest."

Buck sighed theatrically and drew his weapon, checked the clip, thumbed off the safety and pointed it Tanner's way. "Okay?"

"Thank you."

Ezra sidled past Tanner and into the bedroom, and as soon as he did, Buck settled on the couch and rested his gun across his thigh.

"Not the trusting type?" Tanner asked, echoing Buck's words.

Buck chuckled at that. "You'd be surprised. But he has to like you first."

"You sayin' I made a bad impression?" he asked, trying to be funny.

"I'm saying Ezra's too straight to like the way your ass wiggles, and even if he wasn't, all he can see when he looks at you is the money."

After a few silent minutes, Ezra came back out, his suitcases in hand and his computer tucked under one arm.

"Any chance I can grab a shower?" Vin asked, more or less politely. "It's been a couple days."

"Absolutely not," Ezra snapped, just as Buck said "Yeah, sure."

Vin sighed. "Well?"

"We're gonna have to ride in a car and then an airplane with him, Ezra. I'd rather he didn't stink the whole way, wouldn't you?"

"I don't care if he stinks," Ezra said flatly.

But Buck did, and he cared a little about Tanner's pallor, wondering if the man had done anything for the bullet wound, or eaten. Or slept.

"I'll watch him. Ezra, why don't you heat up some of that chili for him?"

Vin looked first startled, then grateful. "Thanks," he said softly.

"Any time. Come on, let's get you smelling sweet."

When they reached the tiny bathroom, Buck unlocked one of the cuffs but left the other hanging around the slim wrist, then parked his hip against the open doorway.

"I can bathe myself," Tanner said pointedly. "Been doing it for awhile now."

"And you can shimmy out a window that a rubber man shouldn't be able to slip through, too. So you can either strip down and give me a show, or you can stay dirty. Your choice."

For a minute it looked like the man would lose his temper, but the moment passed, and his face stilled. "Yeah, all right." Tanner stripped off his shirt and Buck made no more effort to hide his wandering eyes this time than he had the first. Vin turned his back and stripped off his dirty jeans, bending slowly to shove them to his ankles and work off his battered boots with one hand.

"If you're trying to distract me," Buck said, making conversation, "it's working, but not that well. Get a move on, all right?"

Vin used the sink to lever himself up and glared again.

The bullet wound looked like shit, puffy and dark, worse than it had back at the hotel. "You need to take care of that," Buck observed.

"No shit," Vin muttered, and stepped into the shower. While he was in there, clearly visible through the plastic door, Buck ransacked the drawers looking for antibiotic creams. All he could come up with was a bottle of rubbing alcohol and gauze pads from a tiny medical kit. When Vin stepped out a few minutes later dripping water, Buck eyed his wet handcuffs sadly--stainless did too rust--and said, "Turn around."

"Fuck you," Tanner replied, just on the edge of hostile.

Buck held up the bottle. "The bullet wound, pal. You're not taking good enough care of it."

"Guess I am, or it wouldn't have lasted this long," Vin replied, but the careful way he moved gave everything away.

"What happened to that stuff we bought you, anyway?"

Vin shrugged. "Lost it."

It figured. "Then let me pour some of this onto it." Reluctantly Vin turned and bent, and Buck irrigated the wound liberally. The alcohol splashed and Vin tensed, and Buck felt like shit because he never did much care for doctoring and hated to hurt people unnecessarily. Nonetheless he grabbed one of the gauze pads and wet it with the alcohol, massaging gently over the wound to really work in the antiseptic and smear away crusted puss. "That too bad?" he asked.

"Not compared to letting it go south on me," Vin said through gritted teeth.

Buck frowned, and finished by taping a clean pad down. "Okay then. Let's get you dressed and ready to go."

Vin sighed, and Buck didn't know how to read the sound. "Okay," he said though, and toweled dry before he walked into the bedroom.

Damn, the boy really was good looking, and Buck liked the way he walked around naked, pretty much unselfconscious. His package swung nicely as he bent to retrieve jeans from a drawer, and Buck couldn't help but grin. Reminded him of another guy he knew, a guy named Buck--Vin was comfortable in his body, and had good reason to be.

He watched without comment as Vin slid on his jeans, wincing a little as Tanner pulled the fabric up over the bullet wound.

Buck shrugged. "All right." He kept his silence until Vin had finished dressing, in his jeans, a t-shirt under his Henley, and hiking boots. It wasn't stylish, and the hang of the shirt covered up everything interesting... Buck shrugged. Not his business anyway.

Ezra had chili ready when they returned to the living room, and while he refused to eat "that canned slop," he had served up two large bowls for Buck and Vin.

They were three quarters of the way through it when Tanner's phone rang. Buck looked around at Tanner's neutral look and Ezra's poker face, then shrugged and picked it up. "Yeah?" he said. 

All hell broke loose. 

Chapter 8 – Sunday, May 13

Bullets slammed into the cabin's front walls. The door was the weak point, thick as it was, and Tanner scrambled away, bent over and crawling forward on his knees to get further from the door and throw himself into the bedroom. Ezra was right behind him, with Buck on his heels.

"What the hell is going on out there?" Ezra yelled needlessly.

"Whitney's friends just showed up," Buck growled. "Did you bring 'em with you, Tanner?" he demanded, then, "Ez, go take a look out the back window." Ezra crawled around the wall and out of sight.

"Didn't know it if I did," Vin replied, still keeping low to the floor. "I hitched into town, got a lift to my place from a sheriff's deputy I know," Vin said, voice tight.

"Too bad he didn't come in for supper," Buck threw back. "Could have used the help."

"Uncuff me," Vin urged.

Buck hesitated for all of two seconds, then fished out the key.

"What are you doing?" Ezra hissed, choosing that moment to shimmy back into the room.

"Reward's no good to us if we're dead," Buck muttered Ezra's way.

"Well if we die I see no reason for him not to join us!"

Buck resisted a sigh. Ezra's temper flared almost as predictably as Chris's.

"How about we all stay alive," Vin began, sliding around on his knees and bending forward a little to better present his hands to Buck. "I've got weapons. Good rifles, some--"

"I know," Ezra cut him off and dived into the closet. He pulled out three hard-sided rifle cases, shoving them out into the middle of the floor, and unholstered his 9mm again. "Run and I'll shoot you myself, " Ezra said flatly.

Vin raised his eyebrows to Buck and said ironically, "You sure do run with a homicidal crowd. "

"Guess you just bring out the best in people."

Glass shattered in the living room, followed by the sudden smell of gasoline and an unmistakable suctioning of air from back to front. A second ago it had just been assholes with guns, but that tiny rush of air stirred a panic inside Buck. "What's this place made out of?" he demanded.

"Notched logs, painted on three sides with creosote. It'll smoke for a while before it really tries to burn, unless those boys get creative."

Buck peeked into the living room and froze, eyes caught by the flames that licked up two inside walls, weak but producing a heavy, black smoke.

The next rifle shot came right through the bedroom window, enough to drag Buck's attention away from the fire, and he jerked around.

"They're in back now," Ezra stated the obvious.

"They think I'm the only one here," Vin said, opening and assembling a high-powered rifle. "Ammo's in a box in the top shelf, Ezra, would you fetch it?"

"I'm reduced to errand boy," he said dryly, but he moved like lightning, dragging down the heavy steel ammunition boxes.

Buck wished there was an actual door to close against the fire. Another crash and more gasoline smell heralded the next whoosh of air; it brushed against his clammy skin and made the hairs on his neck stand up straight. That fire was going to get hungry... Don't think about it. He flipped open the next gun case and almost jumped for joy: an M25 sniper gun, exactly the kind he had trained on in the Navy. Like riding a bike, you never forgot how to assemble, load and fire, and his hands did the work while Vin loaded and they talked strategy. One of them needed to get to the front of the house, chase these guys back a little.

The Molotov cocktail flew that flew through the broken bedroom window landed, fortunately, on the bed. Vin wrapped the wool blanket around it and tossed it back out. He stuck his head up while he was at the window, brought the rifle to his shoulder in a smooth, natural movement, and fired. Again. One more time and somebody outside shouted "motherfuck." Vin smiled grimly.

The unmistakable, crackling breath of a young fire gusted through as it fed on the fresh oxygen that fluttered the bedroom curtains.

"I'm gonna see if I can quiet 'em down in front," Buck said, snapping a 20-pin clip into the rifle. "Don't fire back here unless you have to." In the living room, the fire ate up the front corner and crawled down and across toward the fireplace where the open flue delivered draughts of new air. Buck let training carry him: roll, stick his head up for a quick peek and duck back down behind the stone fireplace even as he brought the rifle up. The sight would be off, and he couldn't risk relying on it. Fire crackled, feeding, growing. Smoke burned his eyes. He raised his gun, sliding the barrel over the broken windowsill, then rolled up under it, planting the stock against his shoulder and firing at anything that moved. More glass broke, and something wet splashed Buck's pant leg.

He almost dropped the gun as he scrambled backwards, crab-walking away from the lick of flames where the fresh gas ignited in a loud pop and sizzle on the wood floor. Fire shot up, and Buck's heart reached its max, pounding hard against his ribs. Whatever flame retardant Vin had put on these walls smoked thick and black, and Buck felt like he was in the middle of an oil fire. Things looked like they were going dim, and it took precious seconds to realize it was probably his own panic rather than the smoke at this point.

"Buck!" Ezra's voice, and Buck felt a tick in his tight-clamped jaw. He wasn't going to let anybody down here. He fired off a few more rounds, sure he hadn't hit anything, then crawled back toward the bedroom, hugging the central wall and keeping as far away from the flames as possible.

He was coughing by the time he got back to the bedroom, and in the background he heard Ezra's breath hitch too. "We can't stay here," he ordered, urgent. He wasn't going to go out in flames, he wasn't going to do that to Chris. Better to be found on the lawn bled out from bullet holes than burned to death.

Vin wasn't listening.

"We've got to get out of here!" He nearly yelled it this time, and pulled the clip to reload it.

"Easy Buck," Vin said without looking his way, "we can hold them off for awhile."

"Not with the fire. It's catching in the living room and Ezra's already coughing in the kitchen and my jeans got splashed with gasoline. This place ain't gonna hold and I'm not gonna burn." He slammed his fist into his thigh to try and get some focus. All he could think about was charred human remains in a burnt-out car, and not letting Chris find him burned up. No matter what.

The thickening smoke poured out through the broken windows like some movie inferno, and Buck hugged the floor, grunting.

"Ezra?" he hollered.

"Out here," Ezra called from the kitchen. "We have company from the back."

"We have to get out," he repeated, talking to himself.

Before he could turn, Vin's hand grabbed his wrist. "What's going on?"

He jerked his arm away. "Just tell me how we get out, now!" He needed to think about it less, not more.

Tanner stared hard at him, just for a second. "Okay," he said. "Let's go, then." He stuck his head up once, checking the land outside. "Come here. See that little shed?" He pointed to a building not much bigger than an outhouse, maybe forty feet back toward the hill.

"Yeah."

"You get your man out of here and run for it, I'll cover. There's a trail right behind it, leads up into the hills. We can get out that way, if we have to."

Buck looked at him, and knew now that Vin wouldn't shoot him in the back, wouldn't try to kill him at all unless Buck was in his way. But sending them up some trail into woods behind a fire could be as good as killing them. Buck didn't know the land, the terrain, and Wyoming had a whole hell of a lot of nothing out there.

Vin seemed to have read his mind because he frowned slightly and his eyes softened. "'Sua sponte,'" he said, almost as if he didn't know he was speaking the words out loud. "We're more on the same side than not, Wilmington. I won't leave you behind."

The Ranger slogan. Buck's mouth dropped open in surprise at the person behind those words. Automatically, he shot back, "The only easy day was yesterday," and shared a grim smile with Vin. "Now let's get the fuck out of here."

Vin slapped his shoulder. "I'll cover you from here and try to clear a hole. Don't break cover until I holler."

Buck hunkered down by the refrigerator with Ezra, staying out of sight, and well protected by appliances. He could see Vin running back and forth, into the living room twice, then bags flew into the kitchen: Ezra's Fendi, Buck's carry all, and a hiking pack, big, looked mostly full.

"Somebody carry that backpack," Vin ordered, "And when I yell go, you high-tail it. Understand?"

"Yeah," Buck said shortly, near-mesmerized by the roiling smoke.

Then Vin disappeared back into the bedroom, and Ezra and Buck rose to a crouch, ready to run. The sun was lower now, back behind the hills, but there was plenty of light to see the chaos, the flare of muzzle flash, the growing fire and smoke that hovered and blew south from the little cabin. They'd be running right with it.

Buck picked up the backpack and Ezra picked up the computer bag.

"Leave it, Ez," he barked.

"Not on your life, Buck," Ezra snapped back.

"Okay!" Vin hollered. "Go!"

They took a quick look out the back door, ducked out low, and ran like hell through the oily, thick smoke. Buck could hear the gunfire behind him, deliberately exchanged, handgun fire aimed at the house and the deeper sound of Vin's repeater. The trailhead was right where Vin had said it would be, and plenty clear to follow. Buck urged Ezra ahead of him.

Vin's fire seemed to be drawing all the attention, and Buck counted them lucky until a pfft sound popped near his ear, and then his arm lit up like it was on fire. He'd taken one. No time to deal with it now. He shooed Ezra onto the obvious, open trail. "Get moving, Ez," he said needlessly; Ezra was running like they were paying him to do it.

Buck turned for a second to see what he could, every instinct telling him to lay down covering fire. But firing from this position would only lead the rest of the enemy straight to the escape route, and ultimately, whether they lost Vin to his own wiliness, the fire, or the bullets hailing down on the cabin, there wasn't much Buck could do. He reseated the pack and turned to follow Ezra before he got hopelessly lost in the trees.

Behind them, a bunch of shots went off at once like someone had picked up a semi-automatic, and he stopped and peered back toward the cabin, slapping the clip in his own rifle to make sure it was seated properly. For all he knew, the dick-heads might have heavier firepower than what he'd seen and heard so far.

He couldn't see for shit, so he hugged the tree line as Vin had directed them, but the black smoke was thick and there was plenty of it, still more than enough to keep stinging Buck's eyes and nostrils. His gut tightened with a too-familiar sense of dread the longer Vin stayed back in that house. Vin thought the place wouldn't burn, but peeks through the brush afforded him occasional views of the house, and it was lit up like a Christmas tree. Flames shot out the front windows on the side of the house, garish against the smoke that poured out behind them, like the stage curtain behind a dancing stripper.

When the fireworks started, Buck jerked and poured on some extra speed; did the guy have a Gatling gun, or what? He turned back to go and find out when he saw Tanner, a dark shadow bent low to the ground. In the cabin behind him, gunfire still cracked sharply. Buck waited on the trail until he caught up, watching behind him to make sure there was no tail.

Vin looked a mess, the dark green shirt he'd put on darker still with soot, face dirty and streaked with more ash and sweat. "Up...head for those two trees that cross each other," he said, pointing. Buck looked up, could just barely see them.

"What the hell are they shooting at?" Buck said, even as Vin grabbed a tree branch to haul himself up the natural ledge from the cleared valley around his cabin to where the mountain began to rise.

"Me they think," Vin said on a husky chuckle that got him coughing. "Turned on the stove, tossed some old shotgun shells in two frying pans. Gunpowder and buckshot, just to keep 'em guessing. They'll figure it out before too long and I'd like t'have the high ground before they do," Vin added.

"At least one of 'em knows we're going this way," Buck said, hating to admit it. "I'm hit."

"Bad enough to worry about?" Vin asked, already pressing upward on the trail after Ezra.

It burned like a sonofabitch, but a quick pinch of the area told him what he'd already suspected. "Not unless I bleed out. Bullet went straight through, I think, maybe just creased me."

"We'll tie it off as soon as we get settled," Vin decided as Buck continued to chase him. "Tell me if you think you're gonna puke or faint."

"Don't worry." It wasn't like he had the balls to complain; Vin's bullet wound had to be ten times worse and he was pressing upward as quickly as he could, forcing Buck to keep up or lose him.

Ezra had stopped to wait when the trail ran out, and Vin pointed them to the crossed trees and ordered them to take a right and angle up, dropping back and eyeing the terrain behind them. Buck handed off the backpack and gave Ezra a little tap to send him on, but waited for Vin who was crouched beside a tree and staring along their back trail. The gunfire had dropped off.

Buck looked, trying to follow Tanner's gaze but he couldn't see shit with the heavy spring foliage. He could see Vin though, who was raising his rifle and sighting along the barrel. Two shots in rapid succession and the gunfire started up again, a whole lot closer.

"Guess they figured it out," Buck said as Vin scrambled up the trail. He had his own gun ready, unable to see, but he figured the assholes below couldn't really see either. He let off a shot of his own to test it, felt the barrel pull slightly right and settled to squeeze off another. "You didn't actually hit anything did you?" he asked as they started climbing again, Ezra waiting for them at the second mark.

"Doubt it...just letting them know we have their range," Vin said as they reached the gnarled old grandfather tree and Vin pointed up the faint trail. It cut back the same way they'd just come only higher. "Keep moving. It gets dark and we won't be able to find each other, much less the trail."

"There's a trail here?" Ezra groused, adjusting the pack on his shoulders and grunting at the weight. "A thousand dollars says he's making that up," he muttered, but Buck couldn't even muster a smile. The foliage was grabbing and slapping at their legs but it was light in comparison to the thick canopy overhead.

"There's a place we can tuck in for the night, but it's a ways. Keep moving," Vin said, then suddenly grabbed Ezra and kept him still... "Sssst..." he warned, eyes narrowing as he sought for movement. Buck tried to see as well, but the shifting branches and ever moving shadows made it difficult. He caught a flash of white, far below, and then heard a muffled curse. "Go..." Vin murmured and they moved again, until they couldn't hear the sounds of pursuit any longer and Vin paused them again.

He was panting, breathing deeply, sweat smearing the soot on his face and making his shirt cling, but they were all in bad shape. Ezra was dressed for city streets and he didn't believe in nature; he was breathing like an asthmatic. Buck felt the strain in his legs and back, the gunshot wound burned, and he dragged hard at the thin mountain air. He slung the rifle and grabbed his upper arm to see how wet it was. The hole in his shirt didn't feel like much, but his shirtsleeve was soaked and blood dripped off his fingers. Running his hand down his pant leg to wipe off the blood, he whispered to Tanner, "We got time to tie this up?"

Vin frowned at him, then reached out himself. Buck winced and bit back a curse when Tanner squeezed too hard. "Like it rough, do ya?" he hissed, trying to make light of it.

"Buy me a drink and I'll tell ya." But Vin's shadowed face darkened further, and he set his rifle against a tree. "You got a pocket knife?" Buck nodded and fished out his Leatherman, then flipped out the little scissors and handed it over. "This is the best I've got," Vin warned, then reached under his Henley and tugged at his tee shirt, using the scissors to start it and then grunting as he tore off a long strip. Wrapping it around and tying it tight, he asked, "That enough for now?"

"Yeah."

Ezra was uncharacteristically quiet, bent over at the waist, red-faced but serious, watching them both like a hawk. Vin took a few steps down trail and slipped, just barely catching himself on a tree and almost losing the rifle slung over his shoulder. He bent over too, hand pressed to his side, but his eyes were on the trail below, head turned as if listening.

Buck listened too, and eased back beside him. "One of 'em has on a white shirt, the other red..." Vin said quietly, not quite a whisper, breath hitching a bit. "You keep going the way we are...you'll see a break in the trail where the rock has broken off. It's wide enough for a man to get through. Another ten yards or so the trail cuts back north. Wait for me there."

He was unslinging his rifle as he spoke, shoulder pressed to the tree.

"You think they're that close?"

Vin shook his head and wiped sweat from his eyes. "I don't know. Sound travels funny up here and it's not like they're gonna be able to find the trail. They could come straight up. Harder...more likely someone will break a leg or an ankle..." he let his head drop and drew in a breath that was slow and shaky, hissing as he straightened up, hand once more pressed to his side.

Buck's eyebrows drew together and he slung his rifle back over his shoulder, catching the edge of Vin's shirt.

"Bad time to cop a feel, Wilmington," Vin said tersely.

"Never a bad time," Buck said and found the wound. The gauze was still in place but it was hot and sticky with blood. The edges were already brown. He couldn't do anything here, so he let the fabric fall. "You gonna make it?"

Vin eyed him and nodded. "I'll make it. We haven't got enough ammo to play bullet tag with these boys and not enough daylight to get back down on the other side and head for Lander...but I've got a spot in mind. Take us an hour or so though. Maybe longer."

"Can they get around us?"

Vin shook his head. "Not unless they drive into Lander, go onto the res and head up from that side...there's only three ways into this end of the ranch: the road you took, a track from Chanu's place, or over this mountain. They can't try to wait us out, someone's gonna see the smoke. And folks round here kind of worry about fires," he said and pushed up. His face went suddenly hard. "Leave your coat on!" he snapped, low and loud but not shouting and Ezra gave him a startled look.

He'd been shucking his jacket, the white of his linen shirt like snow on the mountain.

"That nice shirt's gonna make you a target, Ez," Buck called out and put a hand at Vin's lower back to steady him while they moved up the trail. Vin was a favoring his side and that worried Buck, not just for the fact that he and Ezra would be shit out of luck if Tanner went down, but because there wasn't a damn thing he could do for Vin if he did.

Ezra obligingly put his coat back on and bent for the pack just as gunfire erupted again. "That way!" Vin snapped out, dropping low, using the sight on his rifle to look for targets. Buck had his rifle out as well, found movement and fired before Vin got a shot off. He didn't hit shit though. Vin's weapon's report wasn't far behind, and Buck figured he'd taken the time to aim. Then he was pushing at Buck, moving around him to pick up the trail again.

Buck grit his teeth and forgot about the fire, his bullet hole and Tanner's, and the shooters behind them. He had only two simple goals for the next little bit: keep Vin upright and keep moving up the trail.

Chapter 9

The airport wait had been a bust, and Chris scrubbed tiredly at his face. He had the best of it, he knew, but that didn't make him like it any better; he hated waiting, especially in a support capacity. He'd spent an inordinate amount of time on the telephone with Orrin or the team or various members of state and federal law enforcement, trying to make friends, trying to learn something useful. All he'd found out so far was that Orrin resented having his friends implicated in criminal activity and that folks around here thought the sun shone out of Vin Tanner's ass.

It was different, to say the least, chasing a man who people respected enough not to turn over on.

He stopped for a cup of coffee at a drive thru and sipped it slowly, sliding the rental back onto the two-lane state road and slipping up behind a big rig. He'd been right; this was pretty country, and his time spent out of even the small towns brought that home to him: some trees, a whole ton of barren land, high desert with scrub and stunted oaks. The late afternoon sun cut brilliantly along quartz or salt or whatever it was that was shiny in the earth. But the thing he loved most was the isolation, the sense of natural loneliness that could seep in through the skin and take root deep inside. He could imagine Buck up here, in cowboy boots and flannel shirts and his beat up hat--hell, he'd fit right in.

If they got Tanner locked up and the money came through, maybe they'd come back here. Just for a bit.

The diesel in front of him slowed down on a shallow rise, barely more than a false flat that crested out of the valley Riverton sat in, and Chris braked behind it. Thirty miles an hour, you'd think they'd have a passing lane now and again. The diesel topped the rise, its stack throwing up a thick, black smoke, and Chris blinked a little at the effect.

He blinked again. Swallowed his heart back down. Cursed. A piece of him refused to accept was he was seeing even though adrenalin-driven sweat broke out on his skin and he felt himself begin to shake.

Deep breaths, he told himself. It wouldn't do any good to hyperventilate and wreck the car. He picked up the phone and dialed 911. This couldn't happen. Lightning didn't strike twice. But there it was, and when the switchboard operator answered with, "911, what is the nature of your emergency?" he said it, just let the words spill out.

"There's a fire," he blurted, "south of Lander, outside the reservation on private land. It's on the ranch owned by Chanu Reeves."

"Yes sir, emergency vehicles are en route. Are you at that location?"

"No." He swallowed. "No. My partner, Buck Wilmington, is in that house, and an employee of mine, and Vin Tanner, the guy who lives there." They're burning... he shuddered and gripped the wheel tighter, his sweaty palms slipping on the molded plastic.

"Emergency vehicles are in route, sir. Where are you?"

"I'm-- I'm on my way back from Riverton."

"Okay, thanks. What's your name?"

"Can the procedure," he yelled. "There are people up in that cabin!" They'd have gotten out, they'd be safe, he told himself. He might have believed it if he weren't sure a convicted arsonist had started that fire.

He pressed hard on the accelerator and swung the rental out to try and get around the semi, but there were cars in the oncoming lane. He hit the brakes and swerved back in behind the trailer, biting off a curse as the nearest driver sat on her horn.

"Are you driving?"

Her voice seemed like the distant buzz of a bee as he eased the nose of the car out from behind the semi once more, to witness a line of cars that looked like a funeral procession. Breathing hard, Chris pulled back behind the truck and over to the right side of the road to see if there was enough shoulder for him to go around.

"Sir? Are you driving? Sir!"

"Yeah, I'm on Highway 789 south, just a few miles out of town," he answered the authoritative demand in her voice without thinking.

"All right, I need you to do me a favor. I need you to stop the car."

"What the hell are you--"

"I need you to stop the car, sir."

"I'm not stopping this car; my partner's in that cabin, and I--"

"We have an eighteen-person fire department," the voice interrupted calmly, "and heavy equipment available from the Forestry Service as well as local businesses. Everything that can be done is being done. Now I need you to stop your car so that when your partner comes looking for you he won't find you on a slab in the coroner's office. Do you understand?"

It looked like an inferno, thick black smoke pushing into the sky like it was being pumped straight up from hell. No, he didn't understand. He didn't understand why this could happen twice, didn't understand why he'd been stupid enough to risk Buck or Ezra to that house when he knew Whitney was a firebug. He didn't understand how those bastards had closed in so soon after Tanner got home. He'd talked to Buck barely more than an hour ago. How the hell could things change so fast?

She was talking again. "What? What?" he asked. She might as well have been speaking Chinese, for all he'd understood of it.

"What's your name? And have you thought any more about stopping the car?"

"Don't try and talk me down, lady!"

"Then what would you like me to do? We don't have many options over the phone, and I'd like to call you something besides sir." Her voice took on a definite bite, and he wondered if it was training or temperament that did it.

"Chris Larabee," he muttered, tailgating the truck. "And I'm not stopping, so you can forget it." He cursed suddenly. "There is something else you can do. This fire was probably started by a criminal who jumped his bail. He was up on an arson charge, Eli Joe Whitney. He had friends, four of them, armed. You need to get the cops up there."

Was there something worse than smoke inhalation and being burned to death? Were they corralled in that building even as he spoke to this operator, trapped, unable to get out?

He had drifted again, damn it. "What?" he asked again. He probably sound insane to her, and to the recording devices and whoever was going to listen to this later... "What's your name?" he asked her, trying to settle down and do his job, for Buck, for Ezra, for the skip.

"Mary."

"Okay, Mary. I'm Chris Larabee. I'm a bail enforcer and I work out of Atlanta, Georgia with my partner, Buck Wilmington, who was in that house an hour ago. We came to Wyoming after a murder suspect..."

"Chris? Any chance at all I can get you to stop your car for a minute?"

"Sorry," he said, almost meaning it as he eased off the accelerator and put a couple of car lengths between him and the end of the semi's trailer, "no can do."

W&L • W&L • W&L

The break in the rocks was just barely big enough to get through, and slick with mud. Without a word, Buck slithered through and held out his hand to Vin who took it after a moment, a grim look on his face as he once more took point.

They didn't stop for a while, but the trail flattened out some and Vin dropped their pace back to a fast walk, giving Buck time to think. Vin wasn't talking much, and Ezra was behaving like a model fugitive--probably didn't have the breath to spare for complaint. The air was turning colder, the wind starting to bite as it swept along the mountain, rustling trees and stirring up debris on the ground. It was really no more than a stiff breeze, but it felt cold despite the sweat trickling down between Buck's shoulder blades.

Think, Wilmington, he ordered himself. Maybe two hours had passed between calling Chris, screwing around at Tanner's cabin, getting shot at, and heading for the hills. He needed to stop letting himself be led by the native guide, try and find out if they were still being followed before he ended up in the back end of nowhere, and figure out what they were going to do. His phone, forgotten, buzzed a message alert in his pocket, and it might as well have been a snake for the way it made him jump.

"Buck?" Vin paused, turning.

Buck ducked his head; he must've made some sound. "Chris," he said, pulling out his phone. The signal was strong, and that startled him somehow, given how crappy reception could be in downtown Atlanta. "Whoa..." he said, loud enough to be heard. "Signal..." he said to Vin, surprised.

Vin pointed up the mountain to the east, where the tip of a red and white transmission tower pointed up at the sky. "It'll go in and out up here. Mostly out, once we go through the pass, up to the left there," he said, disquietingly helpful, and started moving again.

"Ezra, stay on him," Buck breathed quietly, even though he figured Tanner could hear, then he dropped back a few feet and hit the speed dial.

"You okay?" Chris's voice, was hard and tight, almost brittle, and too familiar.

"Yeah. We're moving," Buck said, breath coming a little harder as they climbed. He was getting soft, in the low altitude and thick, wet air of Atlanta.

"What happened?"

"Whitney," Buck reported succinctly, saving his air. "And his friends. Shoot-out."

"Ezra with you?"

"Yeah, and Vin."

"Let me talk to him."

"He's up ahead--"

"Then slow his ass down and give him the goddamned phone, Buck!"

Buck sighed, wondering if now was a convenient time for them to hit that pass where his reception would fade. "Vin!" he called instead, and sped up a little, passing Ezra and biting Tanner's heels on the narrow trail. "He wants to talk to you."

Vin took the phone without a break in stride, said "Yeah," and "yeah" again. "Well lucky for us both that's not in my plans." Then, "yeah." He held the phone back out. "Here."

"Does he have any idea where he's going?" Chris demanded when the phone was passed back.

"Seems to," Buck said, keeping his eyes on the other two. "They were still on us twenty minutes ago, Chris. We've got two rifles and maybe a dozen rounds of ammo between us and I've got a full clip in my Glock, plus whatever Ez has left in his. I don't want them getting that close, though. What have you got?"

"US Forestry service and a fucking big fire," Chris said, and Buck could hear the shaking in his voice. "Couple of sheriffs deputies and the landowner. Marshals are on the way. We see cars but nobody else."

"Watch your ass, Chris. They're packing more than handguns."

Chris seemed to ignore him. "Nothing I can do down here," he spat, and Buck read disgust right alongside the fear. "They're using their trucks to light the work zone. How long have you been climbing?"

Buck checked his watch. "Little over an hour," he said and then lost whatever Chris was saying. He glanced up toward the tower and could barely see it, and realized that the trail was dropping below the ridge. "Chris, I'm gonna lose you. I'll try to call back later...Chris?"

He stopped. He could back up, regain signal, but he glanced ahead, seeing Vin pick up another switchback. He met Vin's eyes for a long moment, saw Tanner bite his lip and then shake his head, looking up.

Night was coming fast. Whatever shelter Vin had in mind was still up ahead and they were fighting the fading sun to make it in time.

"Fuck," Buck swore and jogged to catch up. He was alive and Chris knew it. That would have to hold them both for now.

Chapter 10

The sun had finally faded, the brilliant golds and dark oranges that highlighted the thick black smoke and made Chris certain he'd never enjoy a sunset again passed into darkness, moon, and clouds of smoke. The fire raged, and Chris took what little comfort he could from the fact that he'd spoken to Buck, that Buck had been alive an hour ago and no shots had been fired since then. Buck would be okay; Buck had to be okay.

It didn't help that the firefighters hadn't contained the blaze yet, that they'd practically given up on the house and focused their efforts on keeping the fire away from the surrounding trees... the trees Buck was hiding in.

Bulldozers pushed up grass and topsoil, clearing the earth between the house and the trees, and a Caterpillar with a narrow bucket scooped a trench along the back of the yard. A few minutes before, a C-130 had flown over, low, and dumped what looked like chemicals on the trees near the house, though nobody donned gas masks and one of the volunteers, when Chris grabbed her away from her work, told him it was just water.

The house burned brightly now, and he stared at it, mesmerized. Why did it have to be fire?

"You know Vin?"

The voice was deep and slow, and startling; he turned, met an Indian whose eyes seemed fathomless. "I know all of them," he said tiredly.

A long, dark hand extended. "Chanu Reeves. This is my property they're trying to save."

Chris shook it, because there was nothing else to do. "Chris Larabee."

"Why are you here, Chris Larabee?" he asked, without a trace of compassion; this guy was calculating, and cold.

"Because my people are up there, and Tanner is up there," he said shortly. He'd just as soon go berserker on this fuck and relieve a little tension than be condescended to by a stranger.

"Who are your people?"

Chris didn't answer. He felt Reeves' stare for a long while, but he didn't drag his gaze away from the blaze. He couldn't, even as his eyes began to water, stinging, open wide and taking it all in.

He didn't realize Reeves had left until the man appeared again, and jostled his elbow. Chris snapped out of his hypnosis and turned his head, saw the pint bottle held out in a rural western gesture of friendship, and gratefully accepted. Damn but he needed a drink or six.

It wasn't polite to polish off all of a man's liquor, he tried to remember as he upended the bottle, the sharp bite of Evan Williams cutting at the membranes of his mouth and throat. He held it, savored the sting, then swallowed it down and savored that feeling, too. He handed it back, hoping the man would do the same quickly enough.

"Keep it," Reeves said, and Chris found it in himself to smile gratefully.

He sipped though; the remains of this pint wouldn't go far, and his desire was to drink for a while--maybe for as long as the fire blazed, maybe until he saw Buck again and knew that his lover was in one piece, unburned, alive... he took another drink.

"Tanner's all right," Chris thought to say. He hadn't told anyone about the phone call, and maybe this good Samaritan with the booze would take care of spreading the word. "He was an hour ago; I talked to Buck and they're climbing together, headed someplace Tanner knows, up there."

"Yep," Reeves said, like he'd known all along.

"He won't..." he stopped, refusing to voice the weakness that chewed on him from the inside. Tanner could kill Buck up there on that mountain, Ezra too, had proven his ability the first five minutes they'd spent together in the car in Denver. Chris's gut told him that Tanner wouldn't, and even though it was something as ephemeral as intuition, he wasn't going to challenge it by talking about worst case scenarios. "Tanner knows what he's doing?" he said instead.

"You don't know him then," Reeves said, a softness in his voice that brought Chris's watering eyes around to look.

"I know all of them."

Reeves shook his head. "Not if you have to ask that question. Vin likes to spend time in the backcountry, and he grew up on the res, just a couple of miles west of here."

"Yeah, but what about the rest of them? He's wanted, you know. He could dump 'em, take off..."

Reeves' face took on a harsh look, but when he spoke his voice was quiet and even. "You really don't know Vin. He wouldn't do anything to hurt people under his care."

That was the rub, wasn't it? "They're not under his care," Chris said tiredly, too wound up even to express any emotion. "They came to take him into custody."

But Reeves just shrugged. "They're climbing together, you said. Then Vin will watch out for them."

And Chris believed it. He hated believing it, and refused to trust it, so he stared hard at Reeves, trying to look past the flares and shadows from the fire that crossed the man's face and into whatever lay beyond them, but he was too messed up to read the man. "He'd better. He dragged them up there."

Reeves chuckled at that. "You'd rather he left them in there?" he said, gesturing toward the burning house. That did it for Chris. The next thing he knew he was on his knees, puking that much-needed whiskey and the remains of the sandwich he'd picked up in Riverton out onto the wet grass.

A hand touched his back briefly but left when he flinched away, and his stomach kept cramping and heaving long after there was anything left to throw up. Eventually he sat back on his heels, shaking and sweating, staring hard at the mess in the grass. Where before he hadn't been able to take his eyes off the blazing house, now he couldn't even bring himself to look at it, knew if he did right now he'd be heaving again. A rag waved before his face and he grabbed it up, smelling motor oil but uncaring, swiped at his face and mouth with a corner of it, and didn't hand it back.

Shots sounded up on the hill and Chris jerked like he'd been hit, gagging as more adrenalin dumped into his system. The firefighters dropped and the marshals moved in, putting themselves between the tree line and the civilian force, and the heavy work lights were swung around, throwing a harsh, white light into the woods.

Beside him, Reeves hadn't moved. "Too far up the mountain," he observed. "I doubt they're even firing in our direction."

Chris was supposed to take comfort from that? There were only three things men with guns would be shooting at up there in the near-dark, and one of those things was Buck. Chris looked up, found a small smile on Reeves' face that reminded him of Buck laughing at all the wrong times.

Reeves met his eyes. "Whoever's shooting at Vin, Vin's shooting back. I think those last few rounds came from Vin's favorite rifle, and what I'd bet is his M25. Don't know who's shooting that one though."

"Buck," Chris said as his brain slid back into gear. "He'd have gone for an M25, if there was one to be had."

Reeves nodded. "Those others, Armalites maybe. Cheap semi-autos people pick up at gun shows." His disdain was evident in his voice. "Hey, Tom!"

Tom Glenn, the marshal from Cheyenne, rose from a crouch and strode over. "Yeah?"

Reeves gestured at Chris. "This guy feels pretty confident that his friend has at least one of the rifles we just heard, and I'm thinking Vin has the other. Whoever's chasing them won't get too close. If you get lucky, he'll do your jobs for you."

Glenn blanched. "Don't even joke about it," he said, and Chris frowned between the two men. It hadn't sounded like a joke, but Glenn went on, "He's already got a murder charge, Chanu, and it won't help him any if he shoots somebody up there in the dark."

Reeves tucked his fingers into the front pockets of his jeans. "Be worse if he lets them shoot him though," he said reasonably, like he was making conversation, like a house wasn't burning down a hundred feet from them and people weren't trying to kill each other up in those hills.

Who the hell was this guy?

Reeves turned back at him then, and a look of concern crossed his face. "You gonna throw up again?"

Mouth dry, Chris shook his head.

Glenn turned to him now too, and Chris was suddenly the center of attention. "So who's shooting at Vin?" Glenn asked.

Chris's stomach lurched again, but nothing more than that. "It'd have to be Eli Joe Whitney, the--"

"Damn him!" Reeves interjected, expressing his first real emotion and giving Chris pause.

"Somebody want to tell me who he is?" Chris demanded. The guy kept turning up like a bad penny, and everyone but Chris seemed to know him.

Reeves just shook his head. "Bad news. He and Vin... they've got a history."

When Reeves looked like he wouldn't say anything more on the subject, Glenn offered, "Vin's taken him in more than once, but not much seems to stick."

Chris knew that much, and started to ask for more when Reeves broke in, musing, "Looks like we'll lose the house after all," and Chris looked back toward the building.

"Sorry, Chanu," Glenn said then, accepting the change of subject without comment. "Think maybe I ought to see what the firefighters are going to do," he said, and strode away.

Now that the firefighters weren't hosing it down, the blaze had gained new ground. Chris, still nauseated, turned his back on it and stared toward the tree line. "I need another drink," he muttered, feeling more than a little desperate here.

"Here." The remains of the pint appeared again and Chris took it gratefully, swishing the liquid around in his mouth to kill the taste of bile then splitting his attention between slow, luxuriant sips of the cheap whiskey and the trees. They could catch fire, he knew. Buck wasn't out of the woods in any sense of the phrase. While he stared, a dark shadow broke from the trees further along, away from the brightest spill of light, and Chris got a good look at the escaping man's face: Whitney. Chris didn't even think about it, nor did he shout warning; he only ran, anger and bleak terror giving him a whole lot more energy and single-minded purpose.

He wasn't even aware that Reeves had taken off after him until he reached Whitney, snagging the man's jacket to slow his progress. The guy spun around, gun in hand, and Chris ducked, made an awkward grab that did nothing, because Whitney was flying sideways from the tackle Reeves gave him. Together they tumbled to the ground, and Chris followed, kicking the gun out of Whitney's hand with enough force to make him yelp in pain. But the man rolled, coming up to his knees with a long, wicked looking knife. Reeves danced back, crouching down into a fighter's position, and Chris ended it all by pulling his own gun, cocking it, and stepping into Whitney's line of sight.

"Drop it... or so help me God, I'll drop you," Chris hissed out and Whitney looked for a moment like he might test that promise. Please, Chris thought, give me one good reason.

Whitney dropped the knife, expression caught between a glare and out-right fear.

"Hands on your head," Chris said, and without glancing away spoke to Reeves. "There's a pair of cuffs in my rental…glove compartment."

Reeves moved away and Chris coaxed Whitney into walking until they reached the cars.

"You got nothing on me!" Whitney whined. "Those guys are trying to kill me too. You need to hide me--they'll see me!"

Reeves met them near his own truck and, handling the cuffs like he knew what he was doing, secured Whitney to the front bush guard of the truck. "I'll go find Tom."

"Hide me!" Whitney yelped again, tugging at the cuffs.

"How about I stake you out in the middle of the clearing and let your friends take care of you?" Chris said, meaning it. "Great way for the marshals to pinpoint their positions."

"They're not my friends," Whitney spat out, glaring at Chris then at Reeves. "Fuckers were trying to kill me! Who do you think they were shooting at?"

"My friend," Reeves supplied, before Chris could.

"So," Chris began as understanding glimmered, "have you figured out that you're as much of a liability as Tanner, now?"

"No! I wouldn't've--"

It was amazing, what fear made a man blurt out. "Those assassins on the mountain? You idiot prick, you brought them here and now my partner, my employee, and my target are up there right now with them. Your life isn't worth shit to me, you understand?"

Whitney jerked ineffectually at the cuffs again, his eyes darting wildly along the tree line. "Get me out of here! They'll see me, I'm telling you!"

"You want help from me, you'd better start telling me a story I want to hear."

Whitney rattled at the cuffs again, fear making him pull hard enough that he'd bruise at least, maybe tear the skin, either of which was fine by Chris. "What? Anything!" he sputtered.

"If you've got something to say that tells me what Tanner was really doing in Atlanta, gives me the money behind the Kincaid murder, implicates whoever hired those shooters up there and puts them all in jail, I might want to hear it. But listen," he growled then, dragging Whitney up by the collar, "that's conditional. Who you know, what you know, you'll take it to your fucking grave if any of my people are killed."

Whitney gave him a suspicious look as if he were judging the ability of Chris to make good that promise. "They wanted Tanner. That's all I know," he hedged. "You gotta promise to protect me."

"I'll shoot you myself if you don't start talking right now," Chris growled.

But Whitney buttoned up, and Chris grit his teeth together. "I'll get you back to Atlanta in one piece and away from your buddies up there," he amended.

"I'd like to hear what you've got to say too," Tom Glenn said, coming up on them with Reeves. "How many men up there?"

"Four…" Whitney said. "Armed but only one of them has a semi-automatic."

"Names," Glenn prompted and Chris backed off a little, seething. Whitney knew more -- Tanner had been right -- and Chris wanted to know just how much more.

He listened while Glenn got what he needed as far as men and firepower. "He a skip too?" Glenn asked Chris, looking none too happy.

"Yeah. Arson, the guy Tanner said he was after in Atlanta."

"I can't see Vin pulling the trigger on somebody, Mr. Larabee, but--"

Chris brushed it off. He didn't need another character witness right now. "I'm starting to believe all of you, all right?" he said.

"Fair enough," Glenn said after a moment.

"I can sit on him," Chris said.

Glenn nodded. "You do that…I'm going to see if we can't coax these rabbits out of the trees. Chanu, I'm gonna have to pull the firefighters back again. Sorry."

Reeves only shrugged, looking at the cabin, which was burning brightly again. "Do what you have to."

Glenn left them then and Chris turned back to Whitney. "Now let's see what you've got for me that makes your life worth anything at all," he said, stepping closer, and Whitney actually looked a little frightened when Reeves only turned his back to both of them.

"What have you got for me?" he countered. Even handcuffed to the grille of a pick-up truck, the little weasel had attitude that Chris wanted to slap out of him.

"Depends," he said tersely. "I've got connections. I could do you some favors if you did me some."

"What do you want?" Whitney asked, in a negotiation mode that looked weirdly like one of Ezra's, only not nearly as good.

"Don't fuck with me you little rat bastard," he said. "You want to make a deal, you need to tell me what you have to bargain with."

Whitney thought about it for too long, in Chris's opinion, before he tentatively offered, "I know Tanner didn't kill that guy in Atlanta."

"Do you know who did?"

Whitney looked away. "Let's say I know who ordered it, and why. Find out what that would get me."

It was enough cooperation for Chris to get the guy out of the line of fire, just in case his friends did want him badly enough to shoot him in front of all these people. Chris uncuffed him from the truck and frog marched him over to his rental, settling him into the back seat and running the handcuffs through the door handle. Then he pulled out his phone and called Travis.

"You do know what time it is, don't you?" the gruff, sleepy voice answered.

"Yeah. I think we have Tanner, and I've got Eli Joe Whitney, the skip Tanner was after. Whitney says he knows who the man behind Kincaid's murder is, and he's willing to talk if a deal can be made."

"Who is it?"

Chris looked to Whitney. "The judge wants to know who you say it is."

"Not before I get something," Whitney stonewalled.

Chris, out of patience, slapped him hard enough to jar some sense into him, and repeated, "Hypothetically, who would you guess that it might be?"

"Like, fantasizing," he said shrewdly, "it might be Stuart James."

Chris recoiled; Travis wasn't going to like this one damned bit. "Stuart James," he said anyway, into the phone.

"Whitney's a lying bastard--"

"He'll prove it or whatever he has to trade will be worthless, Orrin," Chris cut in. They'd been over this before, when he'd called from Salina, and he didn't have the fortitude to do it again now. He felt a hundred years old. Buck was up there somewhere in the dark, in the smoke and the cold with a tenderfoot and a fugitive. He didn't have the patience for this. "What can you do?"

His tone of voice must have said something, because Travis just huffed, then answered. "He claims Stuart was involved in Jess's murder?"

"Yeah."

A brief pause, then, "And you believe him?"

Chris stared hard at Whitney and thought it over. Everything matched up--what he'd been learning while he cooled his heels here in Lander, what Tanner had said, what he and Buck had surmised. "Yeah."

"If he can prove it..."

Chris thought it over. Weasels were happy to turn on their masters. "If he can," he agreed.

"Let me make some calls."

Chris rang off without another word. "So now you've got somebody with federal weight looking into it. Tell me a story," he ordered.

If Whitney could prove anything he hinted at, then Tanner really was off the hook, maybe Kincaid was dirty, James was definitely dirty, and Orrin Travis hung out with a shitty crowd. "All right," he said tiredly. The cloying stench of smoke choked him, filled his nostrils, made his eyes burn. "I'm leaving you locked up here." And there, he threw a hard look Whitney's way. "And I'm turning the car alarm on. Open this door and I'll kick your ass."

Whitney, hopeful now, just nodded his head and settled back against the seat.

The Magnificent Seven and it characters @ MGM, the Trilogy Entertainment Group, the Mirisch Corporation and TNN, and was developed by John Watson and others.  
The Big Score by Charlotte C Hill, Maygra


	3. Skip Trace - The Big Score: Chapter 3

SKIP TRACE: THE BIG SCORE  
By Charlotte C. Hill and Maygra 

Universe: Skip Trace - This story frames a new AU where Chris and Buck are life partners running a bail bond agency out of Atlanta.

Acknowledgements: Many thanks to Megan for morale and editorial support, as well as a few scenes .

Pairing/Characters: C/B, Vin, Ezra, cameos by the Nathan, Josiah & JD

Rating: NC17 (We mean, seriously...look who's writing this thing!)

Ingredients/warnings: Sex, often gratuitous but loving (because we can and because Buck begs so pretty). Vintage Camaros, Mustangs, and Ford two-tone trucks. Obligatory references to grits, sausage biscuits and Krispy Cremes (because, hey, it's set in Atlanta.) Stereotyped southern lawmen, stereotyped kindly US Marshalls, vague references to Native American ancestry and Dominoes Pizza (although not in the same sentence). Gucci shoes and Armani suits (because we only gave Ezra a little part and he counter-offered back for a better wardrobe.) Car washing, granola bars, cattle ranches in Wyoming, ex-lovers, and last but not least, beating up Vin because he wasn't getting any and Maygra pouted.

Feedback: yes, please, any kind, on or off list to charlottechill@yahoo.com and maygra@gmail.com. 

Chapter 11

After another hour of steady climbing, Buck was about halfway hoping the assholes behind them would start shooting if only to force them to stop for a few minutes and return fire. The climb itself wasn't horrible but Tanner was guiding them on a switch back route that had Buck turned around and Ezra damn near silent. Every now and then Buck would catch a glimpse of the cellular tower, but between the trees and the zigzagging course he wasn't sure which direction they were going except for up and so far he hadn't been able to get a signal again.  
Vin spent half his time leading and the rest covering their back trail, giving him and Ezra landmarks to aim for while he checked to make sure their pursuers weren't gaining on them. He was moving slower now, but Buck didn't know if it was because of his wound, the darkness closing in, or because they were getting close to their destination.

"Up there to your left," he said, finally pointing. "You'll see it...two big boulders and a tree fall. Give us some cover, break the wind...they won't be able to get to us," he said and Buck gave Ezra a little push to get him going again.

He needed it, and maybe a hand; the slick leather soles of his shoes hadn't been made for this kind of climbing. Aside from complaining they'd be ruined, though, Ezra had kept moving and hadn't slowed them down much, if any.

There was barely enough room for the three of them in the hollow Vin had picked out, but Buck was impressed. The lowest side faced the trail, gave them a pretty clear view back down the mountain and the fallen tree looked like it had been there awhile, which made the little crater made by the rocks difficult to see if you didn't know to look for it. Pulling out Ezra's penlight that he'd never given back, Buck took a look over the tree trunk. He could see where there'd been fires built here before, the ground nearly clear of debris, a stack of dry wood tucked under the log.

Ezra eased himself down into the hollow, climbing over the tree, but Buck waited on the edge, eyes narrowed as he checked the trail behind them too. He could barely see Vin; between that dark green shirt, the foliage and the growing darkness, he almost seemed to disappear where he stood. Buck blinked, wiping sweat out of his eyes and looking again as Vin hitched up to the lee of the ridge.

"See anything?" Buck peered down, but all he could see was the branches moving in the wind that picked up the higher they climbed.

"Nope. Can still hear them though, now and again," Vin said, panting a little. He leaned against the fallen tree pushing sweat damp hair back off his face. "Dark comes fast up here. They're fools if they try making it up with no light."

"Where the hell are we?"

"West," Vin said and pointed up above the tree line, where Buck could see billowing smoke drag its way toward and across the dimming twilight sky. He could smell it too, oily and dense, and wondered what his lungs would feel like by this time tomorrow. "Almost directly above the cabin."

A chill wind swept over the ridge, rattling old wood and making the pines whisper and murmur. Vin shivered and Buck did as well, even with his coat. Sweat was drying on his neck and chest. Vin nodded his head toward their hiding place. "Won't be as windy in there. I've got blankets in the pack. Water. A bullshit camper's first aid kit. Not much else that'll help us up here. Might be a candy bar or two."

Buck followed Ezra's path over the log. Ezra had tucked himself down low, his own coat pulled tight around him. "They can just gather us up in the morning, frozen like popsicles."

Vin eased over the log, sliding down along the trunk, unlike Buck who had just dropped the three feet or so to lower ground. "Won't freeze. Won't even get down to 40 degrees up here at night, this late. We'll be all right."

"Fire?" Ezra asked and Vin hesitated, looking between the two men.

"Maybe a small one, but let's give it a little bit, make sure they aren't closer -- or better -- than I think they are."

Ezra acquiesced with more grace than Buck had expected; maybe he was just that tired. Buck, meanwhile, knelt down to dig in the pack, and found that Vin had been right. The wind was effectively blocked, taking the bite out of the chilly air.

Vin settled against a cut-in section of rock that made a fair natural chair and gave him what Buck expected was a good view of the trail below. "Should be saddle blankets in that pack, and a canteen," he said.

Buck found the blankets, not large but made of thick wool. There were four of them and he handed one to Ezra, who took it with a look of distaste that didn't keep him from wrapping it around his shoulders. Buck bit back a laugh at that, took one for himself and offered the other two to Vin who had no coat. He got a quiet "thanks" and Vin folded one up to use as a cushion against the stone and spread the other over his legs. Clear of the blankets, Buck found the photographs, still in their frames. Finding them surprised him; they were the ones from the fireplace mantle. Vin must have grabbed them in the fray before he took off. Buck wondered if the medals were tucked somewhere in this pack, too, and decided they probably were, then found them as he reached the bottom of the pack with the canteen.

There were two trail mix bars in a side pocket along with a loose length of rope and a small field kit with matches, fishing line and hook, a compass that Buck pocketed, just in case, and a flashlight. He checked its brightness before turning it off and handing Ezra's back to him. The canteen was full and Buck took a mouthful, letting it soak in for a moment before swallowing and taking another sip. Ezra watched him and did the same, before shifting to offer the canteen to Vin who took a series of small sips before recapping it and easing it down onto the ground by his foot. He settled back then, rifle held easily across his lap, eyes on the trail.

"Okay, pard, let's play doctor," Buck started.

"Oh, please," Ezra sniped, disgusted. "Someone explain to me how I found myself saddled with three homosexuals in Wyoming, of all places."

"Gotta wonder about that, don'tcha, Ez? Might want to think about switching your brand of cologne," Buck teased as he opened the first aid kit. Vin wasn't joking when he said the kit wasn't much. It was fine for actual camping needs, even had a blow-up splint for sprained ankles or wrists, but it lacked the basics. Buck snorted at the tiny alcohol pads packed in their single-serving containers like Kentucky Fried Chicken finger wipes. "Get down here and let me have a look at you, Vin," he said.

"I'm fine."

Great, another stoic. "Come on, if it's bleeding at least we can get some pressure on it."

Vin sighed and Buck wondered what was keeping him from taking help when it was offered, then finally Vin shrugged and tugged up his Henley. When Buck aimed the flashlight, Ezra turned away and Buck absently added "squeamish" to his list of Ezra-isms before turning his attention to the wound. The little pad was soaked but the blood wasn't flowing; it was the smell that worried him. He broke open a few of the pads and with a muttered apology cleaned it out again. "Here, lean on it," he instructed, pushing the bandage back in place and holding it until Vin resettled. "Keep the pressure up, you hear?"

"It's okay, Buck," he said, but he pressed anyway and Buck got the feeling he was being humored.

That task accomplished, Buck turned to his own wound, wondering exactly how he was going to dress it one-handed. "Ez..." he called quietly, "I need a little help here."

He heard rather than saw the gulp, but Ezra nodded resolutely and started to stand. "Sorry, Ez," Buck apologized. Ezra really was squeamish, it was no joke for him. And gunshot wounds were messy--and painful, Buck thought, gritting his teeth now that he was actually giving his arm some attention.

"I've got it," Vin offered, sounding embarrassed.

No way was this guy squeamish; Buck narrowed his eyes, trying to pick out more detail on the shadowed face. Vin just shrugged a shoulder and muttered, "Forgot," and Buck couldn't help but grin as he handed off the flashlight.

"Thanks." A minute later he was cursing under his breath as Vin poked and prodded with the alcohol swabs. He was as tough as the next man, but damn! It was too fresh, and throbbed all on its own even before the alcohol came into play.

Vin looked up at him, obviously sensing the tension. "You gonna live?" he asked, sardonic.

Buck frowned, not sure if he was being made fun of or not. "Yeah, I think I'll pull through." This felt eerily familiar, like being under fire, when you depended on the new guy in your unit before you had decided if you liked him or not. He didn't like feeling that way about Vin, didn't like the fact that his gut told him he could trust the guy.

Soon enough it was over, and his arm burned like a sonofabitch. Pain is good; it reminds you you're not dead yet, he quoted by rote, knowing it was true.

When Vin tied off the wound again, not too tight but snug enough to stop the fresh bleeding, Buck blanched, and flexed his forearm, making a fist, making sure the arm still worked well enough. It did. So, nothing to do now but set the pain aside and concentrate on what was important.

Buck pulled out his cell phone but he couldn't get a signal here. He'd either have to go back or go higher to pick it up again. He looked around their little half-cave, digging his foot into the faint signs of charred wood and ashes that lay in a little dug-out depression. "Regular second home up here," he commented.

Vin glanced back. "Sometimes."

He seemed disinclined to say anything more and Buck turned to Ezra, who looked like he was getting his second wind. "Not quite the accommodations you're used to, eh, Ez?"

"Hardly," Ezra said, leaning back against the stone. "If I'd known we were taking the wilderness tour I'd have dressed appropriately. And brought food. Possibly a thermal blanket."

"Usually have that pack filled up better," Vin said.

"It would have to be a pretty big pack to carry enough to make this hole bearable," Ezra muttered, and Buck grinned. "Does this happen to you often, Mr. Tanner?"

"Nah, it's just in case I need to get away for a few days," Vin said. "Haven't had time to restock it," he added, sounding slightly defensive, or just tired. Buck couldn't tell, and it seemed odd for Tanner to want to "get away" when he lived in the middle of nowhere.

"Not one for people much, Vin?" Buck asked him, curious in spite of himself. He was starting to like the guy, a dangerous choice under the circumstances.

"People are fine. Most of 'em." He didn't turn around, only stretched his legs out a bit.

"Why did you come home?" Ezra asked, and Buck didn't know if he was genuinely curious or just passing the time.

"Why'd you come up here?" Vin countered.

"What?"

Vin started to shrug but it turned into a wince. "A pro would have started over. I would never have expected somebody who knew what they were doing to come here," he admitted.

"It was so obvious, it should've been safe?" Buck asked. "Is that what you're saying?"

"Guess so," he replied grudgingly.

Huh. "What about them, did you figure they'd go home too?" Buck got up, moving beside Vin to stare down what he could see of the trail. The shadows had moved in and he looked up, startled at the clarity of the stars. There was no moon, and its absence made the stars look like they were ready to pop out of the sky.

"Nah."

"Then why did you come back?" Buck leaned against the log, trying to catch a glimpse of Vin's face, wanting to figure out this man who he felt a strange kind of kinship toward.

"Didn't figure I could find Eli Joe after Denver...but I knew he'd want to find me, after his buddies gave me such a warm welcome. And he's not very imaginative. If he hadn't come here, I suppose I'd have had to head down to Texas."

"You could have made it out of the country, by now," Ezra pointed out.

Vin rolled his head against the stone to look at Ezra. "Not while people are thinking I committed a murder. Need to clear my name. Only two things are mine: my name and my word. I don't give up either of 'em easy," he said a little flatly, sounding almost angry.

"I'm sure they'll both do you a world of good sitting in a jail cell," Ezra snapped back. "How long are we going to stay up here?"

"All night." Vin shifted, brought one knee up. "'Course, if you want to find your way back down, I won't stop you."

"Surely, they'll give up before long."

"They might, but I'm not trying to find a trail in the dark unless I have to."

"We have flashlights," Ezra huffed.

"Y'all can leave any time you want," Vin challenged.

Buck could do it; he was pretty sure it wouldn't take a rocket scientist to pick his way down the trail they'd run up. He wondered why Vin was so eager to stay up here for the night.

"A fire then," Ezra countered, and Buck grinned.

Vin gave a grunt and shook his head. "Why don't you go to sleep and dream of one?"

"You don't really think I can sleep out here, do you? It's cold and it's..." Ezra let his fingers run along the hard pack, "dirty."

"So's a grave. Keep that in mind while you're thinking of your comforts and what they could bring. I don't really think those fellers care if they hit you trying to get me." He leaned back again and looked at Buck. "You cold too?"

"I've been warmer," Buck admitted, twisting his arm without being obvious. Vin's field-dressing had stopped the bleeding, but he doubted the nagging ache would let him sleep. "You think they'd see it way down here in the hollow?"

"Smell it, more like," Vin said.

"Over the cabin fire?" Ezra asked, derisive.

"He's got a point, Vin," Buck reasoned. All of them freezing wouldn't make tomorrow any easier.

Vin pushed himself upright and shed his blanket. "I'll get kindling."

Buck laid a hand on his arm before he could slip off into the darkness. "I can get it."

Vin didn't pull away and he was close enough for Buck to see some expression, to see the glitter of starlight reflected back in Vin's eyes. It made them look ghostly and pale, like his skin. "I'm not going to leave you two out here alone," Vin said. "I'm not going far...no more'n a few feet. You'll hear me. Here," he said and handed Buck his rifle.

"You been doing all the work..." Buck said, but he felt the heat rise in his face. "That's not what I meant."

"Yeah it is," Vin said, but he didn't sound angry. "Ditched you once, didn't I? I won't be gone but a couple of minutes. Promise. 'sides...told Larabee I'd look out for you," he offered with a faint grimace.

"What'd he say?" Buck asked him, imagining the worst.

Vin looked at him for a long moment, and Buck had given up on getting an answer when Vin muttered, "Told me if I hurt you he'd hunt me down and there wasn't anyplace far enough I'd be able to go to stop him."

Buck sighed, and rubbed at the back of his neck. Tension was building, eating at him just like hunger soon would be. Chris on his own, finding that burning house...

"He meant it, didn't he?"

Frowning, Buck hesitated, unsure how or if to answer the question. "Old Chris," he finally ventured, "he doesn't let go of things too easy."

Ezra sputtered, a bark of a laugh that would have sounded out of place anywhere but up here. "How delightfully understated," he said, sarcasm rife in his tone.

Vin looked between them for a moment. "Let me do what I gotta," he said, sliding off the rock.

Buck let him go, eyes tracking the lighter shadow against the others. He heard Ezra move up behind him, the white shirt he wore under his jacket providing better contrast to the darkness all around.

"Was that wise?" he asked softly. "He is supposed to be our prisoner."

"I know... but you're cold, I'm cold..." he shrugged. "Shit, I'm starting to think this whole thing is fucked and not worth the money."

"It is absolutely worth the money!" Ezra shot back. "Which is all the more reason to not let Tanner out of our sight. There's rope in the pack."

"And I've got handcuffs in my pocket," Buck said and hushed Ezra for a moment, when he heard a rustling beyond their little camp. His fingers tightened on the rifle even though he couldn't see well enough to hit a barn if there was one right in front of him. He eased up. It had to be Tanner. Of course it might be a bear...or something. "He could have ditched us in the smoke...he laid cover for us."

"And for himself. This isn't like you, Buck. Oh, he's nice enough, I suppose, but with all the trouble he's caused..."

"Just trying to make sure you boys earn that five hundred grand," Vin said, all but materializing above them. Buck jerked at the first sound of his voice, and Ezra jumped as well. He moved down along the boulders, and passed the second blanket filled with wood to Ezra. "You know how to lay a fire?"

"I do not. Have you never heard of gas logs?"

"Nope. Just gas bags," Vin said cheerfully and Buck stifled a laugh that was as much a release of tension as it was amusement.

"I'll do it," Buck said and after a moment, handed Vin back his rifle.

Vin took it and resettled himself down on his rocky perch.

Buck found the hollow, and the matches, laying out the kindling low. It didn't take long to get a fire going and he managed to keep it small, drawing on years-past training. "C-4'd be nice right now," he mused.

"Sure would," Vin replied.

"Planning to blow something up?" Ezra asked blandly.

"Nope," Vin said. "It burns like a dream though, mostly dark, no smoke, puts off a lot of heat."

"C-4?" Ezra said dubiously. "As in, the explosive?"

Buck would have patted Ezra on the head if he'd been willing to move. "Doesn't blow without an electrical current, Ez. It's good stuff, that way." He glanced up at Vin who was alternately watching him and the trail. The man hadn't moved much, save his head. He also wouldn't get much benefit from the warmth the fire was putting out, sitting up there. Buck got up, leaving Ezra to tend it. "I can watch."

"I'm okay," Vin said quietly. He had the blanket spread over himself again. Blocking the movement from Ezra, Buck tried to check the wound again, but Vin caught his wrist. "Leave it. It's stopped bleeding," he said, barely heard. But his hand where it gripped Buck's wrist was warm, too warm, and Buck laid the back of his fingers against Vin's cheek. His skin was hot and dry.

Buck found the canteen and offered it to Vin who drank sparingly. "That's all we have," Vin warned. "It's another couple of hours up to where we can refill it. Or down..."

"You think you could eat one of those bars?" Buck asked him, concerned now and less worried about the men following them. It was pitch black and Vin was right, they'd be fools to keep climbing in the dark, not knowing where they were going. If he got lucky maybe one or all of them would fall and break his neck.

"Might want to save them, get us going in the morning," Vin warned. "And my belly's still working on that chili Ezra heated. I'm all right, Buck. Thanks. You might want to sleep."

"Maybe you should."

"I think..." Vin said and shifted slightly, "that I'm okay here. Not moving feels pretty good," he admitted, another flash of white teeth showing when he smiled.

"I'll bet," Buck said. He took a minute to warm his hands. The wind blowing in the trees lulled him, but not enough to settle down, he knew. Maybe Ezra would catch enough sleep for them all. "You were serious about your name, weren't you?" he asked, glancing back. Ezra was hunkered close to the fire, glancing up as if he could feel Buck's eyes on him. The ever-present deck of cards was in his hand and Ezra worked on a game of simple solitaire. "This all about that?"

"Mostly," Vin said after a moment. "Some of it's about Eli Joe... I keep hoping he'll give me an excuse to plant a bullet between his eyes. So far, he just keeps coming up short of the mark."

"Sounds personal."

Vin gave a soft snort. "Yeah, well he's living proof that the system don't work the way it's supposed to," he said, the bitterness he heard in Vin's voice surprising Buck.

"Seems a hard way to live your life, playing Ahab to Eli Joe's Moby dick," Buck observed. That got a chuckle from Vin but there wasn't a lot of humor in it.

"He is a dick. And a murderer -- not just Kincaid. You run up against him, you remember that."

Buck studied the sky again, wondering if he would ever know this kind of driving vengeance. It was something Chris and Vin sort-of had in common if they only knew it. He wanted the people who had murdered Sarah and Adam as much as Chris did, but it didn't eat away at his life at odd moments like it did Chris. Maybe not so much any more, but Chris still checked on occasion, following what sparse leads they had, keeping in touch with the Atlanta PD, the FBI, frustrated and depressed and angry all over again when some new lead came in that didn't pan out.

And if he lost Chris like that? Maybe he was closer to it than he thought...knowing he wouldn't give up either. Wouldn't rest until he'd found whoever did it, seen justice done. But he wasn't sure he'd be like Chris or Vin, where the need seemed to outstrip any sense at all. It was only in the last couple of years that Chris had stopped following any and every lead, no matter how weak and Vin.... Here was Vin sitting up on top of a mountain, hurt and worn down and still, Buck had the feeling if Eli Joe Whitney popped up, Vin would chase him down the mountain and forget the man was now actively trying to kill him.

Stubborn to a fault, both of them.

"You manage to clear your name in Atlanta, you'll go right back out after him won't you?" Buck asked.

Vin was silent for a long moment before looking at Buck like he could see a whole lot better than Buck could. "Before then if I get the chance," he said, voice even, cold, but honest. "I'll get you back down...but he's mine."

"Shit, Vin, I ought to cuff you right now."

"Do it and you can find your own way down," Vin said.

"You think I couldn't?"

"I think you'd make it fine, even with Ezra in tow." Ezra hrrmphed at the insult, but said nothing. "But you'll have to watch me every step of the way."

"Easier to watch you if we're cuffed at the wrists, don't you think?" he pointed out.

"Maybe," Vin said easily. "Maybe not."

Buck considered the words carefully, and reached up to rub at the spot on his throat Chris had touched before they had separated. Easier to conk Vin on the head with something and just carry him out. "Why are you telling me this?"

Vin shrugged. "Because I understand that the money is important. What I need to do is important too...and it ain't about the money on Eli Joe's head."

"For your name," Buck murmured and shook his head. "You get yourself killed and ain't nobody going to remember your name."

"Gonna die someday. No one will remember it then either, most likely."

Stubborn and stupid, Buck thought, making a sound of disgust and turning back to the fire. He fingered the handcuffs in his pocket. The phone was in the other. Oh, he understood pride well enough but this was carrying it too far. And for Vin to warn Buck that he'd run first chance he got was stupid, too. Better to lie or keep his mouth shut and lose them on this mountain.

So why wasn't he snapping the bracelets on the guy? It had something to do with the smell of rot setting into that wound, something to do with the uncertainty that Vin could run; determination only took a man so far. Buck had learned that the hard way, too many times. So had Chris. Looked like Vin hadn't, yet.

Well, he decided, letting go of the handcuffs for now, if he did use 'em, he'd have to give the keys to Ezra.

Ezra was picking up his cards and laying them out again and Buck idly wondered if he ever cheated at solitaire. Probably not. Ezra had his pride too. He might beat the socks off them at a poker game and more than once Buck had accused him from dealing from the bottom of the deck... but he'd never actually caught Ezra at it. That could mean he didn't, or that he was that good.

Buck added another branch to the fire. He could see better here, pick out the detail that was the shadow of Vin's profile sitting on the rocks. He was still as the stone he was sitting on, head back, the breeze moving his hair, obscuring his face. Only the glitter of reflected firelight on the barrel of his rifle delineated him from the other shadows.

He should be down here, near the fire and resting, Buck thought, tossing a twig into the fire. Tanner was taking his "promise" to Chris way too seriously.

Or not. He leaned back on his elbows on the blanket. What had been Vin's response? Not in my plans. To get Buck hurt or leave him...he could only imagine how Chris had sounded.

Vin had taken on that responsibility before Chris had a chance to offer the threat, though, like he'd taken on bringing Eli Joe in on any piss-ant charge because the crimes Vin knew he'd committed, he couldn't prove. If Vin was half as obsessive as Chris could get, it was no wonder Whitney wanted him dead.

Justice. Travis wanted it, Chris wanted it, Vin did and Buck supposed he did too in the abstract. He didn't like seeing people taken advantage of. It worked best when he was getting paid to stop it, but he knew given a situation, he'd step in anyway: rescue a woman being beaten on, help some kid find her parents if she got lost, help out a friend...same thing any decent man would do.

Same thing any of his friends would do for him, if Buck were the one in trouble. He could sit back and rely on it. Rely on Chris and old friends from the force and their new crew... even Ezra had gotten them out of hot water a time or two with nothing more than that silver tongue and sheer determination.

It wasn't something Vin Tanner had though. He did have people who'd speak up for him, like the Marshals, people he'd worked for who would speak for his character. But he'd run in Atlanta, relying on himself rather than the court system or people who loved him. A system he knew failed every time he thought of Eli Joe. Which made Buck more curious about what was between the two men and it made Vin willing to risk his life to take in a bounty that wouldn't net him more than five grand and that might see Whitney put away for a few more years at best, then be released.

Would Vin be right back on his trail? Of course now, if Eli Joe actually took the fall for Kincaid's murder... if he didn't, then Vin Tanner would, and Buck didn't want to see that happen. He sucked in a breath and sat up, then got up.

"Vin."

Vin looked at him, head movement jerky, and Buck realized he'd been dozing. "Yeah..." Wide awake now.

"If we get Whitney, would you come in?"

"No reason not to," was the answer.

"It doesn't guarantee a conviction for murder."

"I know. But he's up on charges in Oklahoma too, and they're none too soft on arson, after the bombing," Vin said quietly. "That'll get him five to seven, maybe more for a second. Maybe we'll get lucky and someone will slit his throat in prison."

"If he doesn't get flipped for the Kincaid murder, that's more likely to be your future," Buck said slowly.

Into the long silence, Vin finally said, "I can only do what I can do, Buck," and Buck heard it there, the heart in the man.

Buck took a deep breath. Chris was going to kill him. "So, if I promise you we'll bring Whitney in, will you give that word that's so damned valuable to you not to run again?"

"Are you nuts?" Ezra said and Buck rolled his eyes.

"Shut up, Ezra," Buck said. "We got a deal, Vin? We'll bring him in. You let Ezra take you back to Atlanta and Chris and I will chase down Eli Joe."

"You can speak for Larabee?" Vin asked, measuring.

Buck grinned. "Let's just say I'm pretty good at persuading him, when I need to."

Vin barked out a laugh. "I'll just bet you are." Then he sobered up a little. "What makes you think you'd have better luck than me?"

Buck shrugged. "Son, your luck ain't been too good lately."

The silence stretched and tightened. "Could take you awhile," Vin said slowly. "He might be running now..."

"It might. But you'll get your chance to tell your story. We can have a word with Travis and he knows folks in the DA's office and the feds. They'll put it out on the wire. He won't stay hid for long."

"That's a lot to promise."

It was, and Buck knew it--not just hunting down Whitney but getting Travis to play the locals in Atlanta a tune they'd dance to.

"We're good," Buck said with a grin in his voice.

Vin nodded, a chuckle escaping him. "You are...not as good as me."

"I don't know," Buck countered, "we've caught you a couple of times now."

"You're both crazy," Ezra groused. "But fine, if you're going to promise it, fine." Ezra's head turned and he picked out Vin's shadow in the dark. "They can get him," Ezra said.

Buck stared at Ezra's resigned profile and knew the man was lying. He wondered if Vin would figure it out, but doubted it; Ezra was damned good at what he did.

"We have an excellent system, Mr. Tanner," Ezra continued. "Regardless of your opinion, they are that good."

Vin pulled himself upright with a small hiss. Buck caught his arm.

"Bad?"

"Stiff...think that infection's really settling in now," Vin admitted and Buck touched his cheek again, found it cool and sweaty. Shit. He didn't know why he'd wasted his breath, nor why he'd offered to commit himself and Chris to another hunt so quickly; he'd lay odds against Vin Tanner being able to climb down come morning.

But Vin had nothing but himself to bargain with, really. Come light of day, Buck figured he'd be able to get them down. Not as easily as Tanner, but he'd told them where he was, he had the cell tower to guide him and if need be, he could find signal and just call Chris and wait for someone to come get them.

Softie... He could hear Chris's recrimination in his head already. "Let's get you warmed up," he said and Vin slid off his perch, leaning on Buck stiffly, like he didn't want to. Mush-brained. Yep, Chris would call him that without a second thought. And damn it, maybe he deserved it. This guy was in no position to bargain, but Buck didn't want to see him get the needle for something he hadn't done, and with every passing second, he believed more firmly that Vin was innocent. He just didn't act like a criminal, and Buck had years of experience learning to tell the difference.

"I lie down, I may not get up again," Vin said.

"I'll get you up," Buck said, catching up the blankets.

Vin made it down, sitting on the dirt pack on one blanket, propped up next to the log. Buck covered him with the second, then picked up his rifle and took over Vin's watch place.

"Buck." He turned to look. The fire made Vin look a whole lot paler than Buck liked but his gaze was steady. "You bring Eli Joe in and I'll walk back to Atlanta if I have to."

He probably would too, but that would be easier than taking Buck's deal had been. Vin looked earnest but worried too, hesitant and wary, and Buck couldn't blame him.

"Consider it done, Stud," Buck said with a grin and a wink and turned his gaze out toward the trail. Now he just had to figure out a way to convince Chris. And catch the guy.

Chapter 12

It took another hour for Glenn and his people to finally get the four men out of the trees. Every time one of the killers moved, someone would fire a warning shot, keeping him pinned. The wind had shifted, sending more cinders and sparks into the trees, dead and drying brush starting a whole bunch of new, little fires that made Reeves look a lot more nervous than the burning cabin had. It damned well scared Chris, and it must have scared the hit men as well because it was amid a good deal of coughing and hacking that they finally surrendered, tossing their weapons down and demanding their phone calls. Once they were secured, the firefighters renewed their efforts, concentrating on the woods, and Chris watched worriedly. A brush fire sweeping up the mountainside would start his nightmare all over.

His phone rang awhile later--Travis, with the offer of a potential deal for Whitney.

"I want the money, Orrin," he grated. They'd been through too much to go home without that vacation Buck always dreamed of--not that it could compensate for the fear twisting his guts, or the flashes of nightmares past that popped up at odd, unwanted moments, or the fact that they'd been shot at more than once and Buck hadn't wanted to take this job in the first place.... "How do we keep the money?"

"Trickier," Travis muttered. "But... it's in bond at Wells Fargo bank. I'll look into it and call you tomorrow... later today," he said with a sigh.

"Yeah. You haven't told James that we've got Whitney, have you?"

"I haven't spoken to him at all," Travis replied, rancor in his voice.

Good. Maybe there was a way to shuffle the skips, get Tanner into the system but hold back Whitney... "Thanks."

Chris returned his eyes and his attention to the fires near the trees. It took them some time, but they doused the area repeatedly while Chris just watched. He'd finished off Reeves' bottle and didn't complain when Reeves offered him coffee and a sandwich, but he did eye the man.

"My wife... folks up at the ranch sent food down for the crews," Reeves said. Chris hadn't really even realized that Reeves had gone. Hell, maybe he hadn't. Maybe someone had walked right up to him and had an entire conversation. Chris wasn't sure he'd have noticed.

When the firefighters announced that the forest was safe and turned one of the pump trucks back toward the burning house, Chris said, "We should go up after them."

"Not in the dark," Reeves said, and Chris turned to glare at him. "Nobody's going up that mountain, and not even Vin would try to hike down at night if his life didn't depend on it. We've got no way to tell him those guys are in custody so he's not going to move, and if we go up he's as likely to shoot at us as anything."

"We'll yell," Chris said, feeling belligerent and skating on the edge of despair. Reeves didn't understand. Couldn't. His family was tucked up safe at his ranch and Chris's family was pinned down somewhere on the side of a mountain, inhaling smoke, and getting colder as the temperature kept dropping.

"You'd break your neck," Reeves replied, but after staring at him for a second he headed back to his truck. He returned a moment later with a heavy-duty flashlight, and held it out to Chris. "Try not to do anything that's gonna force a rescue team to go up there after you."

"There's rescue teams? Get them up there, then!" he yelled.

"Rescue teams are for legitimate, life-threatening situations," Reeves explained, as if to a child. "You don't put them in danger for no reason. Vin knows what he's doing and everybody here knows that. He wouldn't want them risking themselves."

Chris wanted them risking themselves. He wanted Buck down here, someplace warm and safe, in a bed wrapped in a quilt and Chris's arms. This was a different situation, entirely different, but the industrial stench of treated timber burning brought everything back, and he couldn't shake the old images of that smoking hulk of a car, of Sarah....

"How do we know they aren't in a life-threatening situation?" he dogged the man. They didn't know that, not for a fact.

"Because you told me you talked to your man on a cell phone while they were climbing, and your man said everybody was fine," Reeves pointed out reasonably, and Chris wanted to kick himself. One kind notion, to let Reeves know his friend was probably okay, was going to net Buck and Ezra--and Tanner--a night in the cold under who knew what conditions? He should have kept his damned mouth shut.

"There's fine, and there's fine," he muttered. Reeves just waited, and Chris continued, more than a little sullen, "Buck would've said that regardless. He'd want me to think they were okay..."

A hand grasped his shoulder gently, but still, he flinched out from under it. Reeves' voice, when he spoke, was gentler. "Who is he to you?" he asked, with just a touch of a frown.

Everything, Chris wanted to say, then surprised himself by doing it. "Everything." It came out tight and high-pitched, but Reeves seemed to understand and better yet, didn't seem to judge.

The hand squeezed a bit tighter, one stranger offering comfort to another. "You're a lucky man."

Kind of like what Tanner had said... but Chris didn't feel lucky, not with a fire blazing and ghosts from the past marching through his brain. He just shook his head and kept his silence. Reeves still held the heavy lantern, and Chris stared at it for a long moment, then at the densely forested side of the mountain.

"I've wished the same for Vin for years, now," Reeves went on, even as the hand fell away. Chris didn't want to hear it; Tanner wasn't his problem and he was determined to keep it that way. Reeves must have sensed Chris's tension, because he huffed out a little breath of laughter. "Buck... funny name for a white man."

Chris didn't argue. Buck had been "Buck" to him since they'd first met, his given name buried so deep it wasn't even on his driver's license. Call him 'Charles' and he'd be spitting nails.

"How long do you think it's going to take?" he asked, indicating the fire.

"A couple more hours. They'll want to watch it, make sure it's out." He perched back on his truck again. "There's a liquor store about a mile away. I could drive up for you."

Chris didn't like to be read so easily, but damn, he wanted to get drunk-- anything to chase away the edge of this nightmare. Chris eyed him but Reeves had his eyes on the fire, or maybe on the mountain--it was hard to say. He'd had a little chat with Glenn after they'd hauled the other men away. Glenn had been less tense with the threat of gunfire gone, but he hadn't sent all his men back yet. The warrant on Tanner was still good and friend or not, the marshal didn't seem one to dodge his duties.

He eyed Reeves, wondering if the man was as unconcerned as he seemed. "You known Tanner long?"

"Since we were kids. He'll get your men down," Reeves assured.

"He coming down with them?" Chris saw the first smile break the man's stoic expression, white teeth shining in the reflected light.

"Maybe. He'll make sure they're okay either way."

Chris grunted at that. Tanner skipping was more than likely, no matter what this Indian said, but he had to trust Buck and Ezra to hold onto him. Buck at least, had learned his lesson about Tanner, and Ezra knew better than to trust anybody at all, until they'd proved themselves.

The lean-to built onto the side of the cabin suddenly started leaning more than it should, the whole thing collapsing with a squeal of tearing timber and whoosh of hot air and ash. "Shit…" Reeves murmured. "Vin's gonna be pissed."

"The house is still standing." It was more ore less, the thick logs still smoldering but no longer burning.

"His saddles were in that shed," Reeves said and dug his hands into his pockets. "We've opened our house up to the crews. There's a bed and a hot shower if you want it."

Chris tapped the empty bottle on the ground with his foot. "Rather have a drink. You keep an eye on him?" he asked indicating Whitney back in his car.

"Vin's been wanting him a long time," Reeves said, glancing down at the man. "He's not going anywhere." He backed up and reached into the cab of his truck, pulling out a rifle. "End of the drive, turn left. It'll be on the right side."

Chris hesitated for just a moment longer then headed for his car with Reeves trailing him. He unlocked Whitney, recuffed his hands behind his back, and kept the handcuff key before handing him over, glad to be rid of the shit even for a little while. He didn't even watch as the bigger man hauled their fish away. Behind him he heard timbers crack and groan, and refused to look.

The liquor store turned out to be more a local grocery mart, but they had booze, although not the larger bottles Chris was looking for. He picked up two more pints and a package of small cigars, hoping that the sweeter smell would get the scent of fire out of his nose. The man behind the counter asked if he'd been to the fire, if they'd gotten it under control and Chris gave him a monosyllabic answer.

Then he sat in his car and drank about a third of one of the bottles before heading back, figuring that all the cops were already at the site so there wasn't a DUI in his near future.

The fire was under control when he got back. There was still a lot of smoke, and he found Reeves talking to one of the marshals who remained. They both looked over when Chris returned and Chris recognized Glenn, who came over to him. 

"Was Vin hunting those four?" he asked, pointing in the general direction of a car where the shooters were being herded by other marshals.

"Somebody was," Chris said. "I don't know if they have warrants out or not, you'll have to talk to Tanner." He was distracted, searching for Whitney, but when he met Reeves' eyes the dark Indian shook his head in warning. 

"I'm staying and we'll leave a few men here, in case your people try to come down."

He moved over to Reeves, raising his eyebrows in question. "I wasn't sure Tom would let you keep him," Reeves said quietly. "He's locked up tight for the night, and we'll figure it out when we talk to Vin."

"Fine," Chris said, not wanting to look at Whitney any more than he had to and not really thinking he was going to stay sober enough to handle him without it getting ugly.

"You should come back to the house," Reeves offered again. "The fire crews will keep a spotter here all night. They'll let us know if anything else happens," he said, and waited.

"I should stay," Chris tried.

"No reason to," Reeves answered reasonably. "If anything happens, they'll call me--my land, after all. I'll fetch you and we can come back over."

Chris stared at the Indian for a long while, trying to decide if this was just a rural rancher's normal generosity, or if something else was going on. "You'd help Tanner escape, wouldn't you." It wasn't a question.

"Would you help your people, if they needed it?" Reeves replied.

Damn it! Damn it to hell. "You're sure they won't come down tonight?"

"Vin wouldn't. The trail isn't maintained, and it's damned steep."

Chris didn't want to leave, but it was sinking in that Buck wouldn't be coming down tonight, and the smoke had gotten to him in a big way. He unwrapped the cellophane on the cigarillos and lit one, holding the smoke a long time before letting it out. "Yeah…thanks," he said, and handed Reeves the extra bottle.

Reeves took it with a small grin. "I've got better stuff at the house."

Chris glared at him. "You could've said that before I headed out."

"You looked like you needed a break," Reeves said, with no apology.

Chris left the rental when Reeves assured him that the rough road wouldn't be passable with anything but a high-suspension four-wheel drive.

Reeves headed for his truck, Chris keeping pace with him, until the Indian abruptly stopped and turned around to face him. "That friend of yours you called, the judge. He a fair man?"

"He's not a judge anymore, but yeah…he is."

Reeves chewed on that for a moment before climbing into the truck. Chris followed. "Vin could use a break," he said slowly. "Somebody fair."

"Orrin's fair. He's fair before he's anything else." Chris hesitated, feeling the shift in their situations. "But fair may not help Tanner. The evidence is stacked against him."

Reeves nodded. "That's why you need to get Whitney to confess. He's the only man who can clear Vin's name."

"And what the hell kind of motivation does Whitney have to implicate himself in a murder?" Chris sniped, tired, impatient, and scared. All of the various tensions were coming to a head, and he was afraid this Chanu guy would bear the brunt of it.

But Reeves just shrugged. "Depends on what he knows, and about who. Vin thinks he's got a shitload of information tucked away. If he turns on his bosses...."

"If he turns on his bosses he could walk."

"Not from a murder," Reeves said decisively. "He'll serve at least a little time, and Vin will have to be satisfied with that."

Chris wasn't so sure, but then he didn't know Tanner, and this guy did.

Reeves grunted and shifted the truck into a lower gear. "Whitney would like nothing better than to see Vin hung out to dry. Innocent or not. Don't think he won't try to turn on you. You take him back, you remember you can't trust him. And don't turn your back on him, not even for a second."

The truck jerked and bounced over the rutted track and Chris had to hang onto the chicken grip to keep from being tossed around, but all the while, he studied Reeves' face. "And what if Whitney hadn't agreed to talk -- or if we hadn't found him at all? Then what?"

The Indian's chuckle was warm and deep. "Then you'd still be looking for Vin."

"We thought Tanner coming back here was a long shot," Chris admitted.

"Where else would he go?" Reeves asked, then he took a curve harshly and let the truck coast a bit. "It's not like he has a home anymore, but this is as close as he gets. He could have hid out on the res, but he wouldn't do it." Chris couldn't tell if the man was proud or disappointed. "He lives like a fugitive even here. Stays here when he's between jobs, but it's hardly what he'd call home. It's just a place to store his stuff."

"It was home once," Chris offered, trusting his intuition.

"Once," Reeves agreed, and slowed the truck as they topped a rise. "But things change. Now, it's a place to store his stuff."

There was a certain melancholy in the Indian's voice, but Chris was too tired, and too stressed, to pry. Besides, something told him Reeves was wrong, that there was a lot more here for Vin Tanner than met the eye. He didn't know what yet, wasn't even sure he wanted to know.

It took twenty minutes to traverse the back trail, and when they crested a rise, the ranch spread out before him, bigger and more impressive than Chris had expected. Exterior lighting threw light and shadows on two barns, what looked like a bunkhouse, the main house--one level but broad and sprawling. Smaller buildings flanked it, and a few men and women lounged out in the well-lit yard, sprawling in folding lawn chairs. Ranch hands, mostly, mixed with the few released firefighters who sipped beers and recounted the tale. The big circular drive was filled with cars and trucks and there were tables set up on the broad porch, with big coffee urns and plates of sandwiches set out for the crews. Three women and one youngish man moved about to clean up or replace empty plates, but it looked like folks were cleaning up after themselves. Most of them were small and dark, obviously native Americans, but Chris's eye lingered on a slender blonde working with them, because among all these obvious Native Americans, she stood out like a sore thumb.

She spotted them and smiled, setting her platter down and descending few steps from porch to ground in one leap. She went right to Reeves and he opened his arms to her. "Claire, this is Chris Larabee. My wife, Claire," he said, and Claire extended her hand.

"Nice to meet you," she said, and he took the offered hand.

"Mrs. Reeves."

She dimpled nicely. "You with the marshals?"

"He's here for Vin. Another bounty hunter," Reeves said, and Claire's smile faded just a little bit.

"Oh... so those men up there with Vin--"

"Work with me," Chris said. He wanted to say more, wanted to expunge the tension and the gnawing fear by saying something out loud, talking to someone, but there was no ally here, no one he knew, and he wasn't going to call Josiah two thousand miles away just because he wanted his hand held.

She nodded and took a little breath. "Well, there's food and we've got extra beds set up in the bunkhouse. I should get back," she added, her smile more forced but Chris returned it.

Chris grabbed a sandwich to soak up some of the whiskey he fully intended to drink, and took the opportunity to look around, taking in the barns, the corrals close by where even now horses milled, disturbed by all the lights and activity. He heard the mooing of cattle and suspected they were down the hill somewhere; this was a real, working ranch, and in any other circumstances, he'd have wanted to poke around a little.

As it was, all he wanted to do was climb a mountain in the dark, and it took everything he had to finish his food before his whiskey, then ask Reeves where he was supposed to lie down for the night.

He wouldn't sleep.

W&L • W&L • W&L

"Hey," Vin said, his voice a little fuzzy; the guy must be exhausted, and Buck couldn't blame him.

"Yeah?" Buck answered from his perch. It was damned cold up here.

"What's Larabee's story anyway?"

"Not interested in my story, Vin?" he joked, but a piece of him really wanted to know.

Vin chuckled though, and he was close enough to the fire now that Buck could see his face and read him easily. There was more than a little flirtation in his eyes, and Buck filed that away for future reference. "Well Buck, your story I figure I can wrangle out of ya for a couple of drinks. But Larabee's story..." he shrugged slightly, and frowned. The boy was curious, and that amused the hell out of Buck, since most folks got one look at Chris and steered clear of him.

"How do you know he's got one?"

"He's got one," Vin said with certainty.

Buck raised his eyebrows. And because it was freezing, and because they were going to be here awhile, and because something about Tanner rang true to him, Buck told it.

"He was in the Navy when I met him," he started, because there was plenty of time to kill. "We were both in the same BUD/S course. I wanted to ring out about five days in and he tackled me to the ground, told me to stop being a wimp and suck it up." Buck laughed a little at the memory, at how sober and serious Chris had been back then, how determined--lots worse than today. But then, he'd been a lot wilder, too... "Couple days later, he was the one headed for the bell. We were still in our racks, we hadn't even left the barracks, but he just woke up and didn't want to get dressed. So that time it was me dragging him back into line." Buck thought about that, about the bond they had forged so long ago, and all of the things it had survived. "They say if you make it through SEAL training, then you're a team player. I don't know about that; I just know that Chris and me were a team, and have been ever since, one way or another."

"Awful short story for a long night," Vin nudged, so Buck humored him. He skimmed over their youthful intimacies lightly enough that Ezra could miss or at least ignore them, but that Vin would understand if he wanted to. He told Vin about their decision to head for Atlanta as a change of pace from the west coast, and try out for the police force. Fondly, kindly, he told Vin about Sarah and Adam, and about the car fire that had taken them both.

He wasn't even sure Ezra had heard much of it, and grew more certain as Ezra's hands became more mechanical with the cards.

It didn't much matter; Ezra was as much family as anybody else--or at least, as much as Ezra would let himself be. So Buck talked a little about Chris's despair and Buck's own grief, for the family and for Chris. After a long pause, thinking about it, he offered a sketchy history of Chris's recovery from the loss of his first family, and then, after a long hesitation, a sappily detailed story about the day Buck had learned that Chris had fallen in love with him, and that those feelings were returned. He told it partly because of what Vin had said in the hotel back in Salina, about how having somebody must be nice, but partly, it was just because he knew it would make Ezra squirm, and that still amused him sometimes.

Eventually he wound down. "Guess you can figure out the rest. W&L, Ezra and a few other good people--good friends--work with us."

"Huh," Vin mumbled, like he was half asleep. "What's yours?"

"My what?"

"Your story."

Buck thought about it for a long moment, then shrugged. "Except for my mom I guess, it's pretty much the same story."

Vin was so still and quiet, he could have been asleep. Maybe the long monologue had lulled him, and maybe Tanner was just playing possum. Buck had all night to find out.

"Ezra?" he called softly.

"Yes, Buck?"

"Don't talk about this with anybody, all right?" he asked. "Chris'd probably get pissy."

"I don't need to point out," Ezra said, musingly, "that I'm not the criminal here, do I? I'm not the person you need to worry about."

Buck smiled. He liked Ezra, had from the first, liked the spit and polish, the artfulness and the subterfuge, the cocky complexity of the man. "Still."

The cards shuffled, a quiet flutter in the dark. "No using the information to up the stakes in poker games?"

Buck smiled. "Nope."

Ezra sighed theatrically. "All right."

"I'm serious, Ez."

"I know you are," Ezra replied, just as serious. "Your secret's safe with me."

Funny thing; Buck knew that it was.

Chapter 13

The bunkhouse reminded him of holding cells, and while Chris had slept in one a time or two in his police career, it was too long ago, and he valued his privacy too much to relax now.

Yeah, Larabee, that's it. It's the noise. Men and women slept around him, several of them obviously from the Volunteer Fire Department, if their rubber boots, asbestos pants and the stench of smoke weren't clue enough. Chris had at least washed, at Reeves' invitation, but it hadn't helped much.

He lay on one of the bunks, smelling the curious mixture of freshly washed sheets and smoke, the former able to mask the latter for a time if he kept his face buried in the pillow. Sleep wouldn't come, not that he had expected it to. Stretching out on the bed had tricked his body into relaxing a bit, though, and the inevitable aches faded as the tension in his muscles subsided somewhat. Sometime in the middle of the night he surprised himself by dozing off. Not a deep sleep, but he found himself jerking awake at the unfamiliar noises around him.

He got up twice, once for the john and then, toward dawn, because he couldn't tolerate lying still any longer. He didn't go any further than the bunkhouse overhang, where he lit a cigarillo and sucked the smoke deep, staring blankly at the shadowed landscape, all purples and Navy blues against a sky that was both darker and brighter than he was used to. It limned the mountain in stark relief, the mountain where Buck was holed up. He was okay. Chris kept telling himself that.

He looked in the direction he thought the remains of Tanner's cabin lay, but there was no orange glow, no halogen lights to mark the spot for him. He couldn't even see the wispy shadow of smoke anymore; it felt like a dream, a nightmare, but for the people around him and the stench of creosote and ash.

Despite his shower, he could still smell it on himself, too; it was in his clothes, or maybe just in his mind. He'd smoked enough to make his throat raw, and surely more than enough to draw down Buck's wrath. Buck hated his smoking; it was the one thing the man flat-out refused to put up with. Makes me not want to kiss you, Buck would complain, and I just won't tolerate that. But Buck was up that mountain somewhere, so Chris kept smoking, and pulled out his second bottle of whiskey and polished it off slowly. Buck wasn't around to give him those little I'm not judging you but shouldn't you lay off the booze? looks, either. Chris wished to God he was.

W&L • W&L • W&L

It got colder toward morning, and Buck took it on himself to keep the fire going. Vin dozed on and off, jerking awake every twenty minutes or so and fixing his eyes on Buck, which was a little irritating, if for no other reason than that Buck was tired as hell and he knew Vin was, too. After a few seconds Vin would drift back to sleep again, though. On the other side of the fire, covered to his ears and curled up like a disgruntled lion, Ezra barely moved.

Buck found himself drifting off, the night so still and quiet that even the bugs went to bed. He jerked awake at a noise, a soft rustle, the sudden movement sending a stab of pain down his arm that made him bite back a curse. Damn shooters and damned job and damned five hundred thousand... he blinked to find Vin climbing carefully to his feet.

"Piss," Vin explained with barely a whisper, taking his blanket with him as he climbed over the log. Buck moved in to help when Vin's first attempt to climb up ended in a slip that jarred him enough to pull a hiss of pain from Vin's lips. They were a sorry pair, Buck thought tiredly, shivering a little with the cold. Without a word, Buck put an arm under Vin's elbow and hip against his ass and got him up and over. Behind him Ezra mumbled and shifted, but if he was awake, he was hiding it or trying to ignore it.

Vin moved into the darkness but not so far that Buck couldn't hear him when he found the relief he'd been seeking. He was back again in a minute or two, easing over the log, but only to sit on it. "I can watch for awhile," he offered, and Buck chewed on it, then nodded, offering an arm again to let Vin climb down, then handing him the rifle. Vin only settled beneath the log, closer to the fire. It might not be freezing and the wind had died off, but it was still cold enough to chill a man.

Lying down, Buck pulled his own blanket up and tucked his head against his uninjured arm. The damned bullet wound--or maybe the company--had him awake again and he carefully rotated his arm, testing in, while he watched Vin check the rifle, hands competent and sure in the near dark, not taking it on faith that it was either loaded or ready to use.

"You like the army?" he asked, voice low, and Vin looked up, then shrugged.

"Yeah. For the most part. Liked doing something. You like the Navy?"

"Pretty much. We were hot stuff."

Vin smiled. "I'll bet you were," he said, and seemed to find that funny.

"You really like it way out here?"

Another nod, and Vin looked up. Buck followed his gaze. The canopy was thick, but not so much that the sky was invisible. The stars shone brightly, dancing in and out of the barely swaying branches. "Been about the only place I've ever called home."

"How long have you been here?"

"Since I was about fourteen." Vin raised a knee, rifle cradled across his hip.

Buck waited, expecting more, but Vin only leaned back, resting his head against the rough surface of the log. "How'd you end up here?" he finally prompted.

"What? Oh... my grandfather came and got me, and brought me to the res."

That was something Buck hadn't known, but then, he didn't know much. Facts and a resume told him plenty about the man before him, but not about what he had come from, what he had been. And Buck was curious enough to push a little harder. Gently, he thought to himself with a grin. Vin definitely seemed like the skittish type. "From Texas?"

"Yeah," Vin said, then he looked at Buck, a slightly confused expression on his face, like he didn't understand why Buck would ask--or maybe that he didn't understand why he was answering. "Texas Department of Protection and Regulatory Services."

When Vin didn't offer any more, Buck pushed up, propping his head on his hand. "Where were your folks?"

Vin gave him a slightly sour look, then shook his head. "Ma died when I was about five. Don't know my father. Neither did my grandfather."

The story sounded a little like Buck's own, save that his mother was still alive and kicking. Buck did the math. "What took him so long?"

"He didn't know I existed, I expect. Didn't know him…" Vin shifted. "Never got much of chance to."

"That the feller in that picture you threw into the bag?"

"Naw. That's Kojay, Chanu's father. Chanu's the guy I rent the cabin from. They took me in... grandad and Kojay were friends."

"He pass on? Your grandfather?"

Vin nodded. "He died a couple of years after we got here. He'd been living here…" Vin took a deep breath and found a hitch in it, then let it out just as slowly. "Grandad was half Shoshone. It was enough for me to be able to register. Or for Kojay to do it for me so they could keep me," he said, and gave Buck a small grin. "He probably regretted that sometimes."

Buck grinned back. He didn't have to try hard to imagine. "Probably. Trouble, were you?"

"A bit…Chanu and I got into all kinds of things. Magete--Kojay's wife--always said one teenager was trouble. Two were a force of nature."

"Family is good," Buck said, thinking of his own mother, and Chris's parents.

Vin's smile faded a little. "Yeah. Didn't appreciate it much then, though. Didn't much like the res, didn't like Wyoming…Lander's pretty dead when the tourists leave. Not that Texas was any better, but it was familiar at least."

"That why you joined up?"

"Pretty much...although, it had more to do with keeping my ass out of jail. It was Kojay's idea." Vin chuckled a little then, low and soft. "He didn't expect Chanu to go with me, though."

"Chanu's his only son?" Buck guessed.

Vin nodded, a slow smile spreading over his face that was both amused and prideful. "Son of the Chief. We came back after joining up and it's a wonder Kojay didn't scalp us both. Although he said he wasn't surprised. Chanu and me, we were pretty tight back then."

Buck let that slide for now although something in Vin's tone told him there was more to the story. "Must've been good to have a friend with you, though. You serve together?"

"First tour. Boot and then overseas..." Vin rubbed the rifle stock. "Sniper team. We were pretty good."

"He didn't re-up?" Buck asked, curious. There was a tight bond in two-man teams. They either worked, or they broke.

"Naw. We came home on leave and he met Claire. Had to finish his tour, but..." Vin smiled again, leaning his head back again, more willing to talk about his friends than he was to talk about himself. "He was afraid someone might snatch her up if he waited too long. He'd have been right. She's a good woman. Good for him, too. Made him think about the future. Now they've got three kids, the ranch, although half of it's owned by the tribe. He'll make a good chief someday. Way it always should have been, so Kojay ain't mad no more," he said on a chuckle. "About Chanu joining up anyway."

"So why'd you stay in?"

Vin didn't answer at first, then just shook his head. "Not much else to do. Managed to swing time for the wedding, but I wasn't keen on coming back to work the ranch."

"Seems like it would be the kind of work you'd like."

"Maybe once," Vin said.

"What changed?" Buck asked, pretty sure he had it, but Vin was hedging so much, he knew the guy would clam up entirely if he said it out right.

Vin shot him a piercing glance. "People do. I wasn't ready to come back here and move cows around. Got reassigned to another unit, another partner." That was followed by a near snort.

It was entirely a hunch, but Buck played it. "Not Whitney..."

Vin looked surprised. "Yeah. Whitney. How he ever got through the sniper training I'll never know. Somebody must've owed him."

"That your beef with him?" Buck asked sitting up a little and scooting closer to add wood to the fire. He didn't think so but it was an opening, some place to start. He glanced up to see Vin's face, better illuminated as the fresh wood caught.

He'd seen a lot of things on Vin's face in their short acquaintance, been fast to notice how quickly he hid what he was thinking or feeling, as if to show too much was dangerous. Maybe it was, for someone like him. "You took a general discharge," he said prodding a little harder.

Vin looked up sharply, that bare edge of anger dancing around his lips once more, then it was gone. "You guys are thorough, I'll give you that."

"I told you we were good," he shot off with a grin. "So what's the story? You got medals and citations for your stint... you liked it."

"You got a point to this or are you just being nosey?"

Buck grinned. "Nosey. It's oh-dark hundred, it's damned cold and I wanna know what your deal is." His smile faded a bit. "Give a little, get a little, Tanner. And I want to know what Whitney's deal is that he'd think it was worth taking you out."

"I don't owe you shit," Vin said, but he settled back.

"I didn't owe you shit about me and Chris, either."

"Don't remember us making a deal like that," Vin said, but he didn't drop his gaze except to glance briefly at Buck's injury. "Whitney doesn't care about you. You're just in his way and he doesn't like people getting in his way."

"Did you get in his way? This feud you two got going, what is it? Payback for something?"

Vin sighed, but it was almost token. "Some of it's classified--I'm not shitting you," he said at Buck's skeptical huff. "General discharge was better than a court martial or a stint in Leavenworth. I shot the wrong target," he said, rubbing at his face. "Eli Joe was my spotter, and I was stupid. We were under fire, I had my CO yammering in my ear to pull back... and Eli Joe telling me the target was second man out the door."

Buck could feel for the guy; friendly fire was a part of the game, but being the trigger man when it happened... "Friendly."

Vin shook his head. "No. Just someone working both sides. I couldn't see his face…" his voice trailed off. "I didn't even know I killed the wrong man until I got back and MPs with handcuffs were waiting for us."

"Why general discharge? Why not…?" Buck asked. He'd seen his share of bureaucratic snafus in the service and taking out people on your own side happened more often than the military liked to admit, no matter what spin the press put on it.

"Because Eli Joe rolled on some of his buddies. It was…he wanted the guy dead. He and a couple of other non-coms were running some black market deals on the side. The guy…the man I killed, knew about it…would have gone to the CO. Did, actually, but Eli Joe didn't know it at the time…came out afterward, when it looked like we would get court-martialed, maybe worse. Whitney rolled, a bunch of shit hit the fan. He would've taken me down too but when the other guys heard he'd bargained for a lesser sentence, they couldn't talk fast enough. But I killed a guy who wasn't a target, who was friendly. And didn't get the man I was supposed to. They bought that Whitney set me up, but I was still…"

"Stupid," Buck said, not condemning, but there wasn't any other word for it.

"Yeah," Vin said on a blown out breath. "Eli Joe got a dishonorable discharge. He couldn’t get out fast enough. The CO got busted down to 2nd Lt., which sucked in a big way; he was a good man. And me, I got a general discharge, a closed file, and the army telling me not to let the door hit me in the ass on the way out." Vin looked at him, and the fire flickered red in his eyes. "I was looking for old Eli Joe the minute I got back stateside."

"To do what? Kill him or just kick his ass?"

Vin shook his head. "Then? I don't know what I would have done if I'd found him right off. Definitely kicked his ass. He'd made himself scarce though. Chanu told me to come home, get my shit together. And I did, for a while. Worked the ranch. Then we had a couple a' young bucks get involved in a liquor robbery up Cheyenne way, who took off to hide on the res. Marshals needed a liaison to track 'em down, and Chanu had helped them out before. But Clair was getting ready to have their second kid any day, so I went instead. We found 'em…hauled their butts back to Cheyenne."

"And you started bounty hunting," Buck supplied.

"Something like that, yeah. Chanu and I both at first…worked together really well for a couple of years, then we got into a mess in Galveston and Chanu got busted up pretty bad. I went solo after that."

"Because of Claire?"

Shaking his head, Vin stretched a little. "No. Me. Scared the shit out of me. Out of Claire too but she hid it better. All I could think was that he was gonna get himself killed and leave her and those kids, and it didn't seem worth it. Chanu got pissed at me, said he could do it on his own. And he could've, still does help out the marshals or the forestry service if it's local. Kojay, his daddy, jumped up then and said he was getting too old to be handling the ranch full time." Vin chuckled a little. "Chanu knew he was being herded, and he was mad as a hornet for a time, but he's not stupid. Plus, he really does love Claire and those kids. Just like it should be."

"Sounds like he loves you too," Buck hazarded.

Vin gave him a hard glance. "Like brothers."

That was when it hit him, and Buck wondered if he was just too tired, in too much pain, or too stupid not to have picked up on it before. "I reckon a little more than brothers," he said. The parallels were pretty obvious, save that Buck had been lucky enough not to fall in love with Chris when they were young. Twist it around a bit…only Chanu still had his wife, his children.

"Ain't like that."

"Yeah, right," he half-laughed. "Now, or then?"

"You are nosey," Vin said after a moment, but he didn't seem so much offended as annoyed. "Not since he saw Claire. Never was much of anything to begin with."

Maybe it hadn't been for this Chanu guy, but Buck could see it in the way Vin tried hard to convince both of them. The way his envy of what Buck and Chris had was so obvious from the beginning. "All right," Buck said anyway, backing off. Vin still looked at him suspiciously, then snagged the canteen and took a long drink before passing it over. "Any other bed time stories you want to hear?" he asked.

"Not unless you've got some dirty ones," Buck offered with a grin.

"Yours are probably better," Vin shot back.

"Mine're better than most," Buck admitted with a grin, "but that's just 'cause I got an early start."

More soberly, obviously closing the subject, Vin said, "You got a couple of hours to get some sleep."

Buck took that for what it was, and lay down again.

It was just beginning to get light when Vin unfolded himself and got to his feet, rolling up the blankets and shoving them back in the pack.

"Light enough to move yet?" Buck asked, voice low. He hadn't slept, between the burn in his arm and the certain knowledge that Vin could have slipped off any time. Ezra was still sleeping, and the wool blanket had migrated up until it barely covered his shoulders, face, and hands. Buck grinned in spite of himself.

"Not quite. Sun'll crest high though, hit this face first." Vin wrapped his arms around himself, breath misting slightly. "We have two choices: keep going up and over -- Lander's on the other side, half a day's hike."

"Or back. Chris is down there. He said the marshals were on their way...that was last night."

"Think that was the gunfire we heard, late?"

Buck shrugged. "Might've been." It might have been the law shooting at shadows, too. It occurred to him that the marshals may have done his job for him with this Whitney character too, but he didn't mention it. No sense getting Vin's hopes up just to ease his own sense of responsibility. Chris was still going to kill him.

Vin nodded. "They might. Or they may have camped out halfway down, waiting for the light."

It was possible, and Buck knew that if he and Chris had been the ones doing the hunting, it's what they would have done. Still... "How are you doing?"

Vin ducked his head. The sky was lightening as Vin had promised, and details were getting easier to read. Vin looked pale and dirty and worn out. "I've felt better," he admitted. "I'll hold though."

"Not too far back down the trail and I can pick up signal again," Buck said, pulling out his phone. "Battery won't last us long, but Ezra has his, too. We can see what the situation is below."

Vin grinned at him. "That would make deciding which direction to go a whole lot easier." He reached down and shouldered his rifle. "I'm gonna get on top there...make sure no one's closer than we think."

Buck nodded and offered an arm to help Vin climb over the log and out. While he still had a good grip on Tanner, he asked, "We still got a deal?"

Vin gave him a hard look, searching his face. "Yeah. But I don't let things go easy either, Buck." Buck nodded, accepting that, and Vin pushed off, climbing carefully up and around the rocks to settle on the high point.

Buck shook his head and went over to shake Ezra awake. "Up and at 'em, son."

Bleary green eyes might have incinerated him on the spot, but Ezra sat up. "Morning already? How...predictable."

Buck grinned. "Cover that fire up with dirt and load up our camping gear. I'm heading down a bit to see if I can get hold of Chris."

Ezra nodded slowly. "How's your arm?"

"Better if you don't make me think about it," he retorted with a grin; now that he was moving again, the pain had upped a couple of notches and it was burning like a sonofabitch.

Ezra raised disdainful brows.

"It's fine," he conceded. "Not bleeding again. Barely shows." Buck turned to show how he'd artfully draped the torn shirt-sleeve to cover the bandage. "So don't go mouthing off to Chris until I have a chance to break it to him gently."

Ezra coughed then, and struggled to his feet. Flashing a wide grin he announced, "That, I have to see." Then he looked around their little campsite.

"Vin's up there," Buck said, pointing to where Tanner sat like a gargoyle on the rocks.

"Morning, Ezra," Vin called down. "Sleep well?" he asked, all innocence.

"Like the dead," Ezra deadpanned and moved to kick the fire out.

Buck waved his phone in Ezra's face. "I'm gonna go see if I can find a signal," he said quietly.

A raised hand forestalled him, then Ezra retrieved his own cell and turned it on. "Take mine too, just in case."

"Thanks," Buck said.

Ezra just glared at him, and eased his gun from its holster.

"You wanna stop playing John Wayne?" Buck chided.

"I don't know. Do you want to stop putting your faith in fools and criminals?"

"I resent that," Vin called down, and Buck looked up to catch the man's fleeting grin. Sound echoed in this little rocky niche, that was for damned sure.

"He was a sniper," Buck whispered. "He could take you out a lot faster than you could take him out. Now play nice. Besides," he added with a lopsided smile, "if I stopped putting my faith in fools and criminals, you and me wouldn't be friends."

Ezra rolled his eyes and said, with complete sobriety, "You have no idea how much too early it is for your brand of humor, Buck. Now please, get a move on so I can get to some kind of central heating. And running water."

"You got it." Buck patted him on the shoulder in passing and, not forgetting what Vin had said, headed back down the trail cautiously. It was little-used, probably more a game track than an actual trail, but he could pick it out well enough now that the light had come up. He glanced back, barely able to see Vin but aware as he hadn't been last night that there really wasn't any reason why Vin should have stayed. Maybe Vin was worse off than he seemed, and had tried to make the best of a bad situation? He'd figure it out soon enough, he supposed, if he heard shots fired back there or if he climbed back up and Tanner was gone.

Chapter 14 – Monday, May 14

Chris watched the bustle of activity grow as the stars began to fade. Several small, dark women brought out fresh coffee, which gave him a purpose.

Walking across the yard, he realized it was later than he'd thought and he checked his watch: a little before five a.m. He wondered what time sunrise would come, because the people availing themselves of the coffee looked like ranch hands who shouldn't be up much earlier than the light. One woman, in cowboy boots, jeans and flannel shirt, had a natural beauty about her. And while Chris wasn't one to notice such things, he stored the vision away so he could tell Buck about her later: See what you missed? Buck would appreciate it when he was down and safe.

He paused before he reached the steps. Tom Glenn was there, looking like he hadn't slept at all. He gave Chris a glance and a nod before settling on one of the benches at the edge of the porch to slurp down his coffee and slowly eat what looked like a fresh biscuit with ham.

The spread of food included biscuits with ham or beef, egg or cheese or some combination of all of it. The ranch hands loaded up plates like it was a McDonald's buffet. Nothing continental about this breakfast at all.

"You sleep any?"

It was all Chris could do not to jump out of his skin. His cup of coffee didn't fare so well and he cursed as he scalded himself.

Chanu Reeves offered him a napkin and a generous grin. Damned if the guy wasn't getting a perverse pleasure from rattling Chris's cage. He was dressed much the same as he'd been the night before, but now his black hair was braided back, revealing far more of the classic structure of an Indian, his face long and sharply defined, cheekbones pronounced, nose slightly flattened and earlobes typically heavy for a pureblood Indian.

"Not much, no," he finally answered.

"The sun'll be up in an hour or so," Reeves said, then pulled a pair of work gloves out of his back pocket and pulled them on. "I'll come find you when it's worth driving back over to Vin's place."

"Thanks," Chris said, trying not to sound grudging.

Reeves nodded and left, and Tom Glenn followed along. They didn't head for the barns, though, but across the yard, and Chris watched them, curious when Reeves stopped by the split rail fence that framed the gravel driveway. There was a toolbox and flashlight already there, and after a moment Chris realized he was taking down a section, the splintered wood cracking loudly in the otherwise quiet morning.

Chris wandered over, coffee cup in hand, desperate for something to do besides wait.

"One of the trucks clipped it backing out," Glenn offered, giving Chris a somewhat crooked grin. "I think they've done more damage to Chanu's place than the fire did."

It might have been intended as a joke, but Chris didn't laugh. "Did the cabin burn to the ground?"

"No," Glenn replied. "Not quite. A section of the roof is gone, and the shed's totaled, but most of the walls are still standing. Don't know if Vin will be able to salvage much."

Reeves shrugged. "Better than losing everything. And at least the bedroom didn't go up--that's where he kept his ammo."

"Or the propane tank," Glenn said, just as musingly. Like they were talking about the weather.

"He's alive," Chris said more sharply than he intended, pissed off a little that these men seemed so immune to the possibility of loss. They didn't know-- couldn't know what that was like. Glenn gave him a startled look.

"Yeah," Glenn said after a moment. "I'm sure he's counting his blessings." Glenn's tone of voice reflected no rebuke but Chris felt it just the same. "I'm going back up to the cabin," Glenn added, and with a cautious nod to Reeves, started to take his leave.

"I'll go with you," Chris said. Glenn stiffened, and Chris wondered if the marshal wasn't just trying to get away from him. Reeves studied him for a moment too but what he saw, or whatever he was looking for, must not have been on Chris's face.

"No sense going over there right now," he said cautiously. "It's still dark on the mountain, and everybody's probably still asleep up there. We've got a couple of hours at least, of waiting left."

Chris scrubbed a hand through his tangled hair, fighting for a calm that he wasn't anywhere near feeling, and still half tempted to ride up with Glenn. He doubted being there would do his state of mind any good, and thinking about staring at the burned out shell of Tanner's home, knowing Buck had been in that… he felt sick all over again.

"Somebody else going over later?" he asked tiredly.

"Yeah," Reeves replied. "Me. Probably some of the other law enforcement personnel. At least one fire crew…"

Chris chewed on that for a second, then nodded. "See you later, then," he said to Glenn, and watched the man walk away. He finished his coffee and set the mug carefully behind the toolbox.

"Need a hand?" he asked.

Reeves appeared to think about it. "Don't have another pair of gloves."

"It's okay," Chris said, and quirked a wry, weak grin. "I'm good at fences." Buck would think that was funny too, maybe. He picked up the crowbar to work at the heavy nails while Reeves put some leverage on the splintered wood.

They worked in silence, squinting in the pre-dawn light. He caught a couple of splinters but it was better to be working than sitting on his hands waiting. Anything was better than waiting and worrying, and there was something soothing about fence mending that called to mind Buck shaming him out of his grief all those years ago, and the hand-built fence that now encompassed their whole place back in Atlanta.

All in all it took them about half an hour to repair the fence and Chris helped carry the scrap wood to a kindling bin behind the house as the sky began to lighten. He stopped then, and took a really good look at the ranch; mountain and upthrusts of rock cut in and out of the landscape, but not far behind the house ran a wide, shallow creek that slid under the fence in the back yard to the more open spaces beyond. The cattle were louder here, cows and their calves giving up low-pitched bellows as a couple of ranch hands on horseback guided them out of one pasture and into another. It was all open--wide and beautiful, and it reminded him of his and Buck's place, but their home was so barren, by contrast, without even a dog to run the open land. He needed to get Buck a dog.

Closer to the barns was another corral with horses, some grazing, some watching the cowhands with interest, others merely stretching. It was a motley mix of breeds, a few shorter and broader-- trail ponies for the uplands, sturdy and strong and not at all daunted by the rocky rises and steep grazing areas. Others were sleeker, maybe Arabian blood there, quarter horses at least, Chris guessed. Maybe twenty or more milled around in the corral.

It looked... peaceful, and painfully reminiscent of the plans he and Buck had made years ago, plans he had buried for no good reason when he had buried his wife and son.

"What do you run?" he asked, to distract himself. Best not to think of the past, not until he could see for himself that his future was okay.

"Braunvieh--Black Angus crosses, about 3,000 head, plus breeding heifers. Pitched to the natural beef market," Reeves said. "We're one of the largest natural beef operations in the state."

"Big operation," Chris said.

"Big tribe. We can get some breakfast then head back over if you want."

Chris was still afraid of what he'd find. "Can we go up after them now?"

Reeves shook his head. "Best to let them come to us," he said, which made Chris less mad now than it had the night before, now that he could see the land without the shroud of darkness. These were not mountains that would be kind to greenhorns.

Chanu led him through the back door into a spacious kitchen. Several men and women milled around, either cooking or washing up. All of them greeted the Indian, and spared smiles and curious looks for Chris. Reeves spoke to the oldest of them in some Indian language Chris couldn't guess, and the only word Chris could make out was "Claire." Then they were cutting through the house.

"You might want to turn your cell phone back on," Reeves advised. "If Vin's not sure it's safe, he'll lead your people up and over the pass toward Lander, but it's a hike. Glenn's got a megaphone, so we can climb if we need to, see if we can call them out," Reeves offered as he led Chris through the house.

"It's already on," Chris said quietly.

As they walked through the rest of the house, he caught a glimpse of the large great room and dining room that was almost as large, all of it comfortable and utilitarian, with only a few touches Chris might call decoration. Natural logs were darkened with age, and the gingham, rough Indian weaves, and linen could almost make Chris think he'd stepped back a hundred years. All the place needed was kerosene lamps and a pump handle where the sink faucet was.

W&L • W&L • W&L

Buck paused when he caught his first clear view of the transmission tower. The trip down had been much faster than the trip up, and in less than twenty minutes, both his and Ezra's cell phones beeped that messages were waiting; he didn't need to check to know who had left them.

It was kind of an odd place and time to be so excited about a cell phone, when usually he didn't go for them much, but Chris answered on the first ring, and, "Are you all right?" was the first question out of his mouth, even before hello.

"We're ready to end this camping trip. How's it look down there?"

"Clear. You three get your asses back down," Chris said, sounding angry and relieved and scared all at the same time.

"You catch 'em?"

"Yeah, we got 'em. They came falling out of the tree line a couple hours after dark. Three marshals and half a dozen state troopers herded them in."

"How many?" Buck asked, partly because he wanted to know, and more because Chris's voice--tense, stressed out, terse--was music to his ears.

"Four, plus Whitney. He practically walked into my arms. Seems once he led them to Tanner they didn't need him any more."

Buck let out a sigh and glanced back up the trail. "That's good. That's real good. That's the four we saw in Denver. They got anyone else working for this?" It occurred to him there could be more.

"Could be...but I doubt it. Whitney was so shit-scared when he hit the clearing, I think he's telling the truth." Chris laughed, short and bitter. "They wanted him dead too, once they found Tanner. You coming in?"

"Yup. I'll get the boys moving. Might take us a bit. Where are you now?"

"Reeves, the man Tanner rents from, put me up for the night, let the marshals use his place as a base of operations, and opened his bunkhouses to firefighters and anybody else who needed a bed. Not that I slept much. You?"

"Not much."

"You sure you're okay?" The anger had left Chris's voice and Buck found himself smiling and nodding, wondering when and how to explain the bullet wound in his shoulder.

"I'm okay. Little cold. Need a shower."

"Buck?" Suspicion crept into his lover's voice and he resisted a sigh.

"I'm walking and talking, aren't I? Relax, Chris. We'll be down in awhile."

"All right. I'll get in touch with Glenn, the senior marshal. We'll meet you at the cabin."

"Bring breakfast!" Buck said then signed off.

It took longer to get back up to their hiding place than it did to get them moving; Ezra, it seemed, had suckered Tanner into a game of blackjack, if the cards spread across one of the blankets was anything to go by. Probably best for both of them; at least with cards in their hands they hadn't been pointing guns at each other the whole time Buck had been gone.

"It's a clear run, guys," Buck informed them, handing Ezra back his phone. "Let's get out of here."

The cards disappeared but Vin was slow to rise, and slower to reach down to collect the remaining blankets. "Come on, let me do that," Buck offered, far more adept at bending than Tanner was with that bullet hole in his side.

"Yeah," he said tightly, "thanks."

Buck got the blankets stuffed back into the pack and passed the canteen around again, and this time Vin wasn't squeamish about taking his fair share. Buck wondered how easily he could shoulder the pack with his arm banged up, and then shrugged. "Ezra, you carry," he ordered, holding the pack out with his good arm. Ezra, pragmatic, merely huffed and took it right along with his other stuff.

"I'm expecting a bonus for the field work," he asided, and Buck just grinned. They'd all get a bonus out of this one.

"We ready?"

Vin's face took on a hard set as he stared down at the trail. "You weren't feeding me a line of shit last night, were you?"

"What do you think?" Buck retorted, then grinned. "Nah, Vin, I wasn't lying. I reckon I can get Chris on any trail easy enough, with the proper motivation."

Ezra got that disgusted look that always amused Buck, and Vin just barely cracked a smile. "I'm countin' on you, Wilmington," he said softly, then gingerly began to climb up out of their hidey-hole.

Buck frowned and stopped him with a careful hand. "Chris already has him," he said then, feeling like an ass for testing the guy.

"What?"

"Whitney. Chris says old Eli Joe ran right to him, and if I know Chris, the poor bastard's handcuffed around a tree down there."

Vin looked for a second like he wasn't going to believe the news, but then he smiled briefly. "Fair enough," he said softly. "Guess you get that vacation after all." Then he shouldered his rifle and started down the trail.

They made better time, but in some ways the descent was harder than the climb. Ezra made a good portion of it on his backside and as they kept moving, Buck noticed Vin lagging behind enough that he paused to help more than once. Vin was just being cautious and moving with careful, heavy steps. Buck slowed his own stride, letting Ezra have the lead. It wasn't like he could get lost, really.

Tanner was flushed now, mouth set in a thin line, but he found a half smile for Buck. "'Fraid I'll run? We're almost there," he said pointing to the familiar crossed trees.

"More afraid you'll fall," Buck said, meaning it. "You want me to carry that?" he asked, nodding toward Vin's rifle, but Vin looked confused, like he didn't know what Buck was talking about. Buck matched his pace to Vin's then and glanced down. It was difficult to see, but the side of Vin's shirt seemed almost black. He wasn't holding it though. "We'll get you checked out first thing."

"Rather have a shot of tequila," Vin said. "How'd Larabee sound?"

"Pissed off. Worried. He'll be fine."

"You'll make sure of it, won't you?" Vin asked, a hint of a leer on his face.

"Bet your ass I will," Buck laughed. "I love reunions." He let the laughter taper off as the smell of smoked tar and pitch thickened. "Let me call 'em..."

"For what?" Vin looked confused again. "We'll be there in five or ten minutes, tops, Buck. Ain't no need to go gettin' 'em excited now."

"You think they've got the fire out yet?" Buck changed the subject. He should have told Chris about Tanner's condition before.

Vin shrugged. "Probably. It's contained, or your friend would have let us know." He barely stumbled over the word friend, and Buck remembered again what Tanner had said, what Chris had said about the man having no one to come home to.

"I don't think I said thank you," he tried, "for getting us out of that."

"Kind of got you into it," Vin pointed out, and slowed down next to the larger of the crossed trees to lean heavily for a moment.

"'preciate it anyway. You okay?"

Vin nodded. "Yeah. Just...not looking forward to a jail cell." Vin looked around at the mountain and the clear skies. Then he pushed off. Buck followed more slowly. No, he supposed not. He was going back to everything that was important and Tanner...

It didn't seem like Vin Tanner had much to get back to no matter what he did.

W&L • W&L • W&L

Chris stood stock still, eyes glued to the trailhead as he tried to will three figures to appear out of the trees. Ezra had phoned him too, maybe an hour and a half after Buck had, to suggest that an EMT onsite would be good for their liability issues. Chris had demanded to know what was wrong, and Ezra had prevaricated, as usual. "We slept atop a freezing cold mountain all night," he'd replied testily. "Who knows what you can catch up there?" Then, "Just don't risk our investment to sloppiness, Chris."

"You sure that's all?" Chris had pressed, not liking the fact that Ezra was pushing pretty subtly and Buck hadn't at all.

"I'm sure that I have blisters, that my ass is frozen and my best guess would be that Lander has neither a decent masseuse nor something even vaguely resembling a Starbuck's," Ezra had sniped back, sounding irritated. The line crackled a little, the hum fading in and out and Chris found himself clutching the phone as if will alone could keep the line clear. "Buck is a little worried about Mr. Tanner, although I believe the man is half mountain goat," Ezra finally said. "It's a precaution--" the rest of it was lost and Chris swore softly, eyes still on the ridge. But the connection didn't come back and his phone didn't beep.

"Problem?" Tom Glenn asked. Reeves didn't move from his perch against his truck, his eyes also intent on the trail.

"Ezra asked that we have an ambulance on Stand-by" Chris said, closing the phone. Reeves glanced at him sharply and Glenn looked confused.

"Somebody hurt?"

Chris hesitated, wondering if he should mention Tanner's wound or if they had read the report. "Ezra didn't say. But it's been a long night, cold up there. They may be in rougher shape than they're letting on."

Glenn gave that some thought and nodded. "Okay. Cody," he called to his co-worker. "Give dispatch a call, see if they've got any paramedics free. Don't make it a priority, but if they've got the availability, ask them to roll a van out this way in a bit. We won't hold them if something else comes up." Cody agreed and got on the radio and Glenn looked back. "That do for you?" he asked.

"Should. They're all walking," he added, uncomfortably aware that Reeves was eyeing him with a little less friendliness and a touch more suspicion than he had shown before. With a hollow, sinking feeling in his chest he realized that if he'd told Reeves that Tanner was hurt last night, the chances were he'd have been more eager to send up an S&R team and maybe then, none of them would have had to spend a night in the cold and dark. Too late now, and he found himself hoping that Ezra was just being his usual self-- wanting a little attention, and a lot of creature comforts. Buck would hate having EMT's fuss over him, but Ezra would eat it up with a spoon. Tanner...Chris didn't know, but he'd bet Tanner would hate the fussing as much as Buck.

"Dispatch says it'll be forty five minutes or so. They're on a call. Says to ring 'em back if there's reason and they can send somebody from the other station, otherwise they'll be here when they finish," Cody reported, leaning against the open door of his and Glenn's vehicle. Glenn gave Chris a look to see if it was enough and Chris could only shrug. It would have to be.

The next thirty minutes seemed ten times longer than the last ninety, any pretense of small talk falling by the wayside and weighted down by tension and anxiety.

Then he saw it, the movement in the trees that resolved itself into a man: Ezra limped carefully under the shifting shadows on the trail. He moved as quickly down the slope as his less than optimal footwear would allow, and Chris gave up trying to look bored, breaking ranks to meet him. As he moved forward onto the turned-over earth that had been Tanner's back yard, the two US marshals, Tom Glenn and Cody Hampton, moved with him. Chanu Reeves had changed his tune and now he hung back, leaning against his truck, staying out of the way-- to survey the property damage, he claimed with a wry tone that made it clear it wasn't the cabin he was checking up on.

"You're the people who have seen to our unwelcome guests?" Ezra asked when they met half way across the plowed-up yard.

"They're locked down," Hampton, the younger of the two, said, before Chris could. "Local boys are holding them in Lander now. You Standish?"

"Charmed, I'm sure," Ezra said snobbishly, and Chris would have smiled at how queer he sounded when he dressed it up for people, if only Buck was visible on that trail.

Hampton's arm slowed on its way up for the handshake and he frowned, and only that masculine hesitation made Ezra remember how far in the back woods these men lived, and frown back. Poor guy must be exhausted, Chris thought, and pulled a rucksack off Ezra's drooping shoulder to lighten his load.

"Thanks, Chris. And despite a truly uncomfortable and very cold night, I think we'll live," Ezra said more robustly, smiling slightly as Chris clapped him on the shoulder.

"Where's Buck?" Chris asked, just as Tom Glenn said,

"Where's Vin?"

"Not far behind," Ezra said, looking past them to the pick-up trucks and police cars. "No emergency services in this town?"

"They're sleeping off stopping a forest fire," Chris said grimly, jerking his shoulder toward the half-ruined house behind them. "The closest people are on another call, be here when they're done. You don't look like you need 'em," Chris said with a half grin. Ezra looked nothing like his usually fastidious self, his hair matted with sweat and dirt and his clothes so grimy that a dry cleaner wouldn't be of any use at all. Ezra did look tired though, and out of sorts, but then Chris saw Buck make the bend in the trail and forgot about everything else. Buck was shouldering a rifle, looking a little dirty, a lot tired, but moving easily. His eyes lit up when he saw Chris and for the first time in twenty-four hours, Chris felt like he could breathe deeply again.

He did that, feeling a shudder run through him at the still present smell of smoke and burning, gasoline and scorched tar. But Buck was here, alive, so the smell didn't bother him so much now. At the last second he remembered not to push Ezra aside, and stepped around him instead, eating up the remaining ground with long, hard strides.

"Gentlemen. Ezra Standish at your service," Ezra said behind him, offering himself up to the two marshals.

Chris heard him, grateful to Ezra for distracting the feds even for a moment. He caught Buck's hand then wrapped an arm around his shoulders, nothing to scandalize the neighbors but enough to reassure him of his lover's solid strength, his warmth and life. Buck pulling him in tight and hard chased away the ghosts and the rest of the fear.

"Vin had us tucked in nice and safe," Buck said quietly, hugging Chris again. "Now don't go crazy on me because it was one of the guys with Whitney before we ever got away from this house," he started, and Chris stiffened in confusion. "I got winged. Barely."

Chris jerked away, looking for injury, and found the dark dried blood that at first had registered as dirt. Buck grinned down, unrepentant. "I put my shirt on over the bandage," Buck explained, grinning. "Didn't want you shooting our prisoner at first sight."

Chris started jerking open shirt buttons, yelling over his shoulder, "We're gonna need a medic over here!" He wondered why he'd believed this stubborn son of a bitch and where the hell the ambulance was.

Buck's soft laughter wafted over him and then the whispered words, "Let go of my shirt, you'll scare the natives."

Chris stiffened. "You could have told me on the phone," he muttered, dropping his hands and trying to get a grip on himself.

"Could have." Buck shrugged. "It was clean, Chris, no kidding. And hasn't bled once this morning, as near as I can tell. I'm here, aren't I?"

"And now you're headed to an ER," Chris ordered.

"Well, make sure there's room for two," Buck said, and turned slightly.

It dawned on Chris that Buck didn't know Ezra had called, and that Buck hadn't been willing to tell the truth on the telephone, which only made him wonder why he ever would have expected Buck to. Ezra deserved a nice big cash tip for that phone call, and maybe for not mentioning Buck's injury… that, Chris hadn't decided yet.

Tanner had paused at the trail head ten feet behind them, hand braced against a tree as he took the foot-high drop from the trail to more level land and paused. Of the three of them, he looked the worst off, face dirty and smudged with soot, shirt torn and filthy, but he steadied his own rifle across his chest with his left hand and sized up the situation, eyes lingering on Buck, then Chris before shifting beyond them.

"Ezra phoned," Chris said quietly, finishing his visual on Tanner. "Ambulance, or Fire EMTs or something should be along soon."

"Probably not a bad idea," Buck replied, low.

Tanner moved forward, then, distracting them both a little. "Tom... Cody, nice of you to stop by," he said, calling out. "Chanu," he added, spotting his friend and slowing. "Sorry about the mess." That got a chuckle out of Reeves who had finally moved forward to join them.

Tom Glenn grinned. "Ain't really a party until the host shows up. Your cabin got a little singed."

"A little," Vin said, moving deliberately until he was abreast of Chris and Buck. "Bad?"

"Bad enough. I'm used to you making trouble in other people's districts," Tom said, but he was making no move to take Tanner's weapon, Chris noticed.

"Sorry about that. Party crashers," he said and shrugged, winced. "You know how it goes."

"Got a warrant out for you, Vin," Tom said finally, smile fading a little.

"I know," Vin said. "You get all of them?" He asked Glenn, but he was looking at Chris.

"Yeah. I filled out a report on the two that followed Buck and me," Chris said. He glanced toward the marshals. "Somebody else you might want to see." 

"That's what Buck said," Vin blew out a breath and dropped his head, one hand on his hip, then took a deeper breath and looked up at Buck, who gave him a little nod. He nodded as well. "Tom, I know you got that warrant, but I kind of promised I'd go back with these fellers...you know. Let them make their living."

Tom didn't look near as uncertain as Chris expected. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Reeves, who look less surprised and a whole lot less hostile, which struck Chris as odd, given that he and Tanner were close friends. "You promise me you aren't going to ditch 'em again?" Glenn asked Vin.

Chris grit his teeth. Tanner wasn't going to get a chance to ditch them again, no matter how good he was.

"Promise," Vin said though. "Done running." He let the rifle slide down to point at the ground before levering the shells out of the chamber. He offered the gun; Glenn took it then the bullets.

"You want to come over to the cars, and sit down before you fall down?" Glenn said, jokingly, but Chris could tell he was serious, too. Chris knew he ought to care, but he couldn't pull his eyes off the blood marks that had soaked down the arm of Buck's shirt.

"In a minute..."

"The man Chanu's holding coming with you all on this trip?" Glenn asked Chris. "There's only three of you." Chris wondered what Reeves had told him. 

"We'll manage," Ezra said.

Glenn shrugged. "Okay. Vin, you need anything from the cabin?" There was no immediate answer and Chris swallowed down a sudden queasiness that had everything to do with drinking and not sleeping and watching a fire and feeling Buck beside him, and Vin Tanner's face suddenly washed out and pale. "Vin?"

Instinct more than anything made Chris move. Reeves darted in like lightning to help catch Tanner when he crumpled, and together they eased him to the ground.

"Son of a bitch," Buck said, who dropped to one knee opposite Chris and immediately went to the wound in Vin's side.

Chris was startled by the amount of blood-- not enough to bleed Tanner out but it had been nearly crusted over just a few days ago. "What happened?"

"Probably tore it open getting out of the goddamned window," Buck said. "He was running a fever last night. Wasn't much we could do about it."

Chris leaned in to feel for Tanner's pulse and found it too fast, sweat on Vin's skin despite the cool air.

"There's a first aid kit in my car," Tom said and was up and moving.

"Ezra, get a blanket," Chris ordered, pulling off his jacket to cover Vin. "He's shocky," he said, working with Reeves to ease him onto his side so Chris could ease away the soaked shirt. He decided now that yeah, he'd find the time to get pissed at Buck for not telling him this… but later. Much later.

Glenn returned popping open the plastic case and grabbing supplies. He dumped betadine wash over a large gauze pad. "This didn't happen last night."

Reeves almost shouldered Chris aside, saying nothing, but the glare he shot Chris and Buck would have matched one of Chris's any day of the week. He took the pad from Glenn and slid it up under the sodden shirt to press it to the wound. Vin shuddered but didn't actually come around.

"I never said it did. It's the one he picked up in Atlanta," Chris said, backing off. "Buck said they were all walking down," he added faintly, feeling slightly guilty, but not too guilty to snag a couple of pads and a bottle of alcohol from the kit.

Glenn swore softly. "Cody!" he called to his partner. "Where's the ambulance!"

"Couple of minutes, tops, Tom," Cody called back from where he stood by the patrol car, holding the radio mic.

Chris wondered briefly why nobody had jumped so fast when he'd called for help two minutes ago, and dismissed the thought; Buck was standing, smiling, flirting and looking good, his two day beard growth giving him that rugged look that, in other circumstances, might have made Chris toss off an insult--or want to go to his knees. Tanner had seemed okay a minute ago too, but then maybe Chris hadn't given him the attention he deserved. Now, well, he was pale and passed out and needed these men's attention a lot more than Buck did.

"He's exhausted more than anything," Buck said, meeting Chris's eyes with a reassuring promise in them.

"Probably," Chris breathed, glancing at Buck and then behind him. "He's not bleeding that badly." Now, Chris told himself. Three days was a long time to be losing blood, even if only a little at a time. He stared at Buck. "Get your shirt off."

"It'll keep," Buck said, shooting him a glare of his own.

"Ambulance'll be here soon," Chris shot back. "You heard them. So unless you want to be in it too, get your shirt off."

Buck looked ready to fight him, but in the end he shook his head and slid the shirt down over his shoulder.

Chris felt his stomach drop but he kept his mouth set at the deep furrow he found when he untied the crude and bloody bandage. The bullet had passed through skin and muscle, but it was medium caliber and clean and it could have been so much worse. The wound was swollen and red, and crusted blood crumbled away when the bandage came off. It bled easily though now that the scab was disturbed, and Chris was angry about it, hand shaking slightly as he used the alcohol to clean the worst of the dirt away. He pressed his lips tightly together when Buck hissed in pain at the sting. But he was gentle and steady when he sponged lightly at the actual wound, getting it as clean as he could.

Buck watched him for a minute or two, before glancing back at Tanner. Chris turned his head to look too after he pressed a clean pad to the ragged exit wound to stop the fresh flow of blood. They had Tanner's legs up, and there was some color coming back into his face. Reeves was talking to him, although not in English.

"Hold this," he said to Buck, pressing another pad to his arm and not letting go until Buck's fingers covered his own. He bent to the kit again to pull out a roll of gauze to hold the big pad in place, wrapping it tightly and tying it off to try and staunch the bleeding.

Leaving Tanner to Reeves' care, Tom Glenn got to his feet, looking a little put out and not nearly as friendly. "You don't get custody until he's cleared by the docs. I'll hold the others for you. We clear?"

"Easy there, pard," Buck said before Chris could even get a word out. "We're all under a little stress here."

"Clear," Chris said on a growl. They wouldn't be leaving until Buck was seen to anyway, but Glenn's attitude was pissing him off. "We didn't shoot him," he said. Buck's hand squeezed his forearm, tight enough to shut him up.

"No, you didn't," Reeves said, looking up, eyes meeting Chris's, his face hard with anger. Chris looked away, and somehow his gaze ended up on Buck's hand at his forearm, the dirt and blood encrusted on his nails. He'd put himself and his people on opposite sides of this thing now. As helpful as Glenn and Reeves had been, it could turn around on them in a New York minute.

"When we lost him in Salina, he was doing okay," Chris said. "Got himself away, didn't he?"

"Things happened kind of fast yesterday," Buck added. "We did what we could, and would've done more if those guys you have locked up hadn't stopped by for a visit."

Glenn took a breath and backed off, the tension easing off dramatically. Reeves made a sound that could have been a grunt of disgust but he looked away too and checked on Tanner's wound again.

The ambulance arrived, finally. There was no siren, but they heard the van on the gravel track, and Hampton waved it over, walking in front of the van as it rolled over the field to stop close by. Vin stirred long enough to take a few sips of water, then the EMTs quietly urged Reeves to surrender his place so they could do their work. They lined in an IV right off, cut Vin's shirt up the back and did a better patch job than Reeves and Glenn had before loading Vin onto a gurney.

"One of us has to go with you Paul. He's a prisoner," Glenn said.

The older EMT looked startled but shrugged. "Move it then," he said. "We need to get some whole blood into him and we don't carry that in the van."

"Ezra, go with 'em," Chris ordered, getting a rise of Ezra's eyebrows if not his actual ass.

"Is there a shower in there?" he said, moody again now that everybody's good mood had evaporated.

Buck rolled his eyes before Chris's temper came up. "I'll go." Stepping in closer he said, "It can't be far and they can check me out."

Chris almost protested. He wanted Buck where he could see him, but he needed Buck's arm looked at and concern gave way to need. "We'll meet you there. Where are they going?" he asked as Buck followed the EMTs.

"Lander Valley Medical Center," Glenn said. "They should be able to handle it."

Chris glanced back at the house, the area. It was pretty country. "We follow you back into town?"

"Yeah," Glenn answered and they headed toward the cars.

Chapter 15

Chris watched anxiously as the ambulance fired up lights and sirens, and disappeared around a curve in the road. He popped the trunk for Ezra and helped him get his stuff in, wondering briefly what had become of Buck's travel bag; he'd been bitching about it ever since Salina. While they climbed into their rental, Glenn cranked his own car up. Chris pulled out behind Glenn, and Ezra leaned back in the passenger seat with his eyes closed. He looked a little worse for wear too, but Chris found himself grinning. Ezra had done all right. He'd done better than that… and his exhaustion was really showing. Holed up in that house for three days and then running way from a firefight-- and a fire-- seeing Buck hurt and having a pretty good idea how Chris would respond to that…

"Who did you want the ambulance for?" he asked suddenly.

Ezra's head turned against the seat rest and one green eye cracked open. "Honestly?"

Chris frowned. "Yeah."

Ezra's eyes closed. "You. I was afraid you'd have a heart attack when you realized Buck had been shot."

Chris laughed in spite of himself, watching as Ezra wriggled a little in the seat, looking for the most comfortable slouch the seat belt would allow. Ezra would probably never tell him the truth… or maybe he just had. "You did good, Ez."

"Half a million," Ezra mumbled in reply. Or maybe he was dreaming by this point because while his eyes didn't open, a tiny smile touched his face and he said nothing more.

They had Tanner, and Buck would be fine, Chris told himself. Whitney and his buddies were an added bonus, maybe nine or ten grand. Maybe more. All they had to do now was pick up the check-- well, figure out how to pick up the check, or even if they still could, but Whitney's presence could muddy the water a hell of a lot on that score… They needed to get Tanner to Atlanta this time, preferably without anyone else shooting at them. Get his legal status seen to. Maybe help somehow, if nobody could get Whitney talking, because he knew Buck was already certain Tanner hadn't murdered anybody, and Chris, entirely against his will, was reaching the same conclusion.

He glanced in the rearview at the charred and still-smoking shadow that had been Tanner's home. His mouth felt dry and he still felt a little queasy as he pulled his gaze back and onto the trail of dust the cars in front of him were leaving. He kept following the government car, his fingers itching on the wheel, until he saw the hospital sign and Glenn's lights flashed once.

Glenn pulled in next to Chris in the emergency room parking. Ezra slid out of the car and headed through the wide ER doors. Glenn left his partner with the car but met Chris before Chris could clear the parking space. "I'll keep those four on ice for you. Twenty-four hours, anyway."

"I'd appreciate it," Chris said, his eyes trailing toward the ER doors.

"Flying back?" Glenn asked.

"Yeah. With Tanner and our other skip at least. I reckon something he has to say will help your friend, if the US Attorneys can find something to trade."

"If your other skip's the trigger man on that Atlanta murder?" Glenn laughed shortly. 

Chris looked up. "Reeves tell you about who we're holding?"

Glenn shook his head. "I have to report what I know, Mr. Larabee. Chanu won't put me or my people in that kind of position. I'm just speculating."

Chris grinned at that. A little frontier law never hurt anybody. "So, just speculating…"

"Well, some people's testimony could help Vin out a little."

Chris frowned. "I didn't--" to hell with it. "It's not what he can say, it's what he will. Or won't."

Glenn looked closely at him, then nodded. "I can get the transfer papers ready, get permits…"

"Thanks."

Glen handed Chris a business card with an additional number scrawled on the back. "That's my personal cell phone. You hear something about Vin's condition before I can get back, would you give me a call?"

Chris took it; Glenn wasn't asking from professional courtesy. "I'll call you," he said and Glenn gave him a quick nod.

"I'm going to get those shooters better secured at the local jail here, see how long we can hold them there without charge so they can't have their phone calls, then I'll be back, with your papers," Glenn promised, before heading back to the car.

Chris watched them pull out then headed toward the emergency room doors, checking in at the desk only to see Ezra coming out.

Ezra met his eyes briefly. "Buck's in the third room; I'm going to call Orrin."

"How is he?"

"He is, as usual, charming his way through the nursing staff. I didn't get an update but they don't seem overly concerned-- for all the fussing," he added with a long-suffering sigh, but his lips twitched and the green eyes appraised Chris carefully. "He was eyeing a male orderly you might want to watch out for."

"Fuck you, Ezra," Chris growled at him.

Ezra jerked, his face screwing up like he'd been sucking lemons. "Not even in your dreams, if it's all the same to you," Ezra spat, just like the pissed off rattler he was. Chris scrubbed his hands over his face and eased off.

"Just... just call Orrin, and see if we've pissed away this bounty, all right? Then check on Tanner," Chris tossed over his shoulder as he moved past him, seeking out Buck before anyone could stop him.

The treatment rooms were small, narrow boxy rooms, crammed full with just a bed, cabinets and a small sink. But they were on the outer wall of the building, the view outside revealed by windows that ran the entire length of the back wall. The vertical blinds were open to the mountains beyond, and the blue sky looked oddly artificial with the glare of the harsher fluorescents overhead.

He eased through the door, and the nurse cleaning Buck's arm gave him a hard stare. Chris met it and waited, but she didn't say anything. Buck, perched on a gurney, had his t- shirt off and both shirts across his lap. It looked like he'd found time to splash some water on his face; his cheeks were free of dirt and smoke smudges. His upper arm was wiped clean and the wound stood out starkly, dark and angry-looking against tanned skin. The nurse finally finished, disposing of the soiled gauze before applying a new pad to the wound to soak up the blood that still welled slowly into the gash. "The doctor will be back to clean out the fabric and stitch you up in just a minute," she said and headed out.

"It's gonna be okay. Sore for a bit is all," Buck said before Chris could ask. "Stitches'll come out in a couple of weeks, tops. Change the dressing, course of antibiotics. It'll be fine."

"It'll scar," Chris said stepping up to the table and touching his finger to the skin just beneath the pristine white pad.

"Probably. I've had worse," Buck said.

Chris reached out for him, and Buck surprised him by letting him nuzzle the smooth warm skin of his bare collarbone for all of three seconds. "Come on now, Chris," Buck whispered. "I'm okay." Buck's hand rose to his neck to squeeze gently and, just as gently, tug him away. Buck caught his hand though and grinned. "You all right?"

"Am now," Chris lied.

Buck seemed to accept that. "You make up with our friends in the marshal's office?"

Chris snorted and pulled away, settling one hip on the end of the gurney. "Glenn's getting the paper work processed. They'll hold onto the other four, so we can see if anybody else wants 'em. Reeves has Whitney, and while Glenn has guessed who he is he hasn't asked. Doesn't want to make the knowledge official."

Buck grinned. "He likes Vin." 

"Yeah, yeah, everybody likes Vin," Chris said, annoyed. 

Buck relented. "We're gonna clean up on this even if we did blow the reward."

Chris shook his head. "Not that much. The bounty on Whitney's--what, five thousand? I'm hoping the other guys are running from warrants, that'd be nice."

"Yeah… still. Vin's the big score."

"Tanner's not leaving today though," Chris said. "And we're tight on the deadline now. We could lose it just because of flight delays, and that's if he's patched up well enough to travel anytime soon."

"He'll get out tomorrow," Buck said. "The EMTs in the van did good. Left me alone and I almost got to walk in on my own until some nurse spotted me and tackled me with a wheelchair. But two ER nurses met his gurney when they unloaded." His expression grew more serious and he rubbed at his mustache. "That EMT, Paul, he said his pressure steadied out on the trip. That's good."

"Yeah. It's good," Chris said and Buck leaned back against he upraised head of the bed, rubbing his hand over his face. Chris rubbed a hand along his thigh. "It's not your fault, Buck."

Buck head jerked up. "Damn right it's not," he retorted. "It's Tanner's, for crawling out that damned bathroom window in Salina." Then he sighed. "It just pisses me off, is all. Should have had you all come up and get us. I knew he was slowing down." Chris grinned at him and Buck scowled. "What?"

"You could have carried him piggy back," he said reaching out to ruffle Buck's hair. Buck batted his hand away.

"I should have made Ezra carry him," Buck shot back. "Stubborn jackass." He leaned back again. "He'd have tried to ditch us again once he got us back down. Did I tell you that? Told me so, bold as brass."

"Ran out of steam?"

"I made a deal," Buck admitted, then hesitated when Chris's eyes narrowed. He shook his head. "Don't matter...we got Whitney. That was the deal."

Chris let that settle for a moment. "You told him we'd bring him in."

"Figured it wouldn't be that hard -- and it wasn't."

"You're an idiot. He wasn't in any condition to run again."

"It's not that. He's--he's a good man, Chris. I can spot 'em, you know that. Hell, if you'd met him under different circumstances you'd have liked him right off, I'll bet. He paused and chewed on his lip, then added tiredly, "Besides, you weren't up on that mountain with us. Maybe he could've run, maybe he couldn't've, but you saw how friendly he was with all the local cops. They like him, Chris, and they don't know us from Adam."

"They'd have to like him an awful lot to ignore half a million dollars," Chris tried.

"Would you turn me in for half a mil?"

"That's different," Chris snapped, and Buck just shrugged and nodded vague agreement.

"Yeah, it's different. Stupid bastard doesn't realize he has people he can count on."

Chris nodded staring out the window toward the not too distant mountains. Too many variables, and he was getting too damned old for this shit. He felt the rough denim of Buck's jeans against his palm and realized he was stroking hard, feeling the boney knee and the heat and the life under the fabric. "He's just lucky you didn't get hurt more'n you did," he bit out.

Buck laughed at that. "Probably thinks so to, after he got off the phone with you. Geez, you're worse'n any girl's father I ever had to cope with."

Chris didn't find it funny, although he was glad Buck was grinning now. "I meant it," he said, intent and as serious as he'd ever been. And if Tanner had passed out? Left Ezra and Buck up there protecting his ass while four idiots were running around hunting for them? If the worst had happened?

"I know," Buck said, sitting up again and reaching for him. Chris let himself be drawn in between Buck's spread knees, pulled close, feeling the rock solid strength Buck offered and all the reassurance that his very presence afforded on so many levels and in so many ways. "Probably what kept him going, so you did us all a favor," he said, bending his head slightly, nuzzling Chris's head up and then kissing him.

Chris kissed him back, jaw working as he concentrated, felt, blood still simmering but in a different way from the warm, heady familiarity of Buck's mouth and his kisses.

"Eh hem... Gentlemen..."

Chris broke it off reluctantly but quickly, turning to look at Ezra who stood at the door watching them but resolutely not seeing. "Yeah, Ez?" he asked gently; they were all tired, and Ezra was thinking more clearly than any of them right at the moment. But then, all Ezra had to lose was the money...

"It would seem Mr. Tanner will survive his little mishap. They're prepping him for surgery."

"Can we talk to him?" Buck asked.

"You may certainly try, but at this point he's tanked on Demerol and loopy as a loon. It'll be a couple of hours at least, so I see no need for all of us to remain--"

"You're right," Chris interrupted, seizing the opportunity. "Once Buck gets stitched up, he and I will head back to the hotel. You call us if there's any change."

"Damn it, Chris!" Ezra started, his usual cool veneer worn ragged. "I just spent a miserable night on that mountain--"

"Without a single extra hole in you," Chris cut in before Ezra could build up steam. "Nobody had a good night," Chris said darkly. Ezra opened his mouth to protest, only to suddenly shut it again, glancing at Buck. Chris followed his gaze but Buck did nothing more than shrug. Chris's eyes narrowed.

"In that case, while you are still here and Mr. Tanner safely under the affects of anesthesia, I'm going to go find something to eat," he grumbled. "And coffee," he added in suddenly interested afterthought. "I assume I'm free for that long?"

"I don't know, Ezra. Tanner might be faking -- maybe you should follow him into surgery, make sure he don't slip away from the docs," Buck said with a grin. "He's a sneaky one."

"Just because he snuck under your defenses doesn't mean he'll sneak past mine," Ezra shot back. "Now, can I get you gentlemen anything? Something from vending? No?" Ezra answered his question before either of them could. "Fine. Travis would like you to call him as soon as possible, Chris. And I would be grateful if you could see your way clear to at least bring me some clean clothes."

"You should get them to give you a once-over, Ez," Buck said, and Chris watched the concern darken Buck's eyes.

"I'm fine."

"Yeah," Buck agreed, genial, "but you froze your ass off and it wouldn't hurt to let 'em take your temperature."

Ezra appeared to think about it, but Chris could tell the man was far the worse for wear. "Do it, Ez," he ordered softly. "It'll give you something to kill the time while you wait, at least," he said, trying to make it sound appealing somehow.

"Well… seeing as I'm trapped here anyway…" With that he turned and left them.

"Snuck under your defenses?" Chris asked. "What else happened besides you making a cockamamie deal with Tanner?"

"Nothing. We just talked is all," Buck said. "Tanner's..." Buck hesitated, and Chris nudged his knee. "Vin's a good man, Chris. I wouldn't bet too much money on it, but I think his story's legit. Travis ought to know that, and twist Whitney until he squawks."

"And?"

Buck frowned. "And he could have sent us up that trail and gone the other direction." Buck shook his head. "Hell, he could have let Whitney's friends shoot us both, or left us up there anytime--leastwise, he thought he could. But he didn't. Light came up this morning and that trail was clearer than a runway. Ez 'n me could have found our way down just fine."

Chris didn't feel any surprise at Buck's admiration; he had more than he wanted to admit to himself, and wasn't willing to examine why closely. Seeing Buck come down that mountain this morning after watching the fire the night before... well, Tanner had earned a shitload of points in Chris Larabee's book, just for that one moment. "Why don't you tell me what happened, from the minute he walked in?" he asked.

Buck nodded, but before he could start, the doctor came in with a nurse and a suture kit. Chris backed up as far as he could, near the window. He didn't actually want to watch the doctor put the stitches in, and he flinched as the doctor shot anesthetic around the wound.  
Buck's breath still caught when the man started digging, pulling out bits of cloth, and then Chris found himself grinning as Buck flirted with the nurse to take his mind off it.

Twenty minutes later, the doctor was done. Ten minutes after that, Buck had sighed while they threw away his grimy flannel shirt and slid carefully into a light blue hospital scrub shirt whose short sleeves showed the pristine white of the bandage. He had his discharge papers in hand and stood tall beside Chris, who carried the little bag of extra gauze and antibiotic cream and a prescription for more antibiotics.

Chris didn't ask again as he and Buck made a final check in with Ezra. He wanted the story, but it could wait. Right now...he wanted a room and Buck, and wanted to forget all about Vin Tanner for a few hours and concentrate on what was important -- which was exactly how he and Buck were going to spend a few grand on the longest vacation either of them had ever taken.

Chris drove, while Buck dozed in the passenger seat; between the night on the mountain and the mild pain meds the doctor had given him, he was a little spacey. And probably not up for any kind of intimate reunion, which made Chris smile in spite of himself. Buck not prepared for sex, any time, anywhere, was funny.

They got to the hotel room and Buck looked around even as Chris set the chain lock on the door and stripped off his jacket.

"Nice," Buck said.

And it was. Nicer than they were used to when they were hunting, this place appealed to the tourists, the happy families with screeching, squealing kids wearing flip-flops and bathing suits, belly flopping into the nearby pool. He'd forgotten that Buck hadn't seen it yet.

"Bed's nice too," Chris said, not wasting time. He felt an urgency that had nothing to do with his groin and everything to do with Buck, and he needed to answer it, to touch his lover and know he was there, that they were still good, safe, whole.

Buck turned, a look of surprise falling off his face to be replaced with that soft, sweet understanding. "Come here," Buck urged, but it was he who moved, stepping in and gathering Chris up close, bending his knees and curling his spine to make the connection easy, mouth to mouth, heart to heart. Wet, slick, warm, familiar. Needed.

"Let me get a shower."

Reluctantly, Chris let him go, remembering... "I'll go get you some food."

Buck's stomach growled on cue. "That'd be great."

He watched Buck strip off his grimy jeans, staring hungrily as familiar bare skin was revealed. Buck paused and glanced up at him. "You want to come with me? I could eat later."

Chris did, badly, but he wanted to take care of Buck too, and that meant something more substantial than lovemaking. "Of course I want to," he admitted, "but it can wait. The hotel has a restaurant, I'll be back before you're done."

He was back faster than he'd expected, with Styrofoam containers holding pancakes, sausage, scrambled eggs. He'd even bought coffee, because it was good here and Buck appreciated a decent cup of coffee more than Chris had ever understood. Once he'd set the food down he gave in to temptation and slipped into the bathroom. Buck was sitting in the tub, the shower raining down on him, head thrown back in exhausted bliss.

"Hey," Chris greeted, sliding the shower curtain back a few inches. "You want some company?"

Buck dragged up a grin from somewhere. "You ever known me not to? "

"We don't have to do anything," Chris promised anyway as he stripped off his clothes.

"Oh yeah," Buck rallied, "we do."

"Let's get you cleaned up first, then we'll see." An urgency drove Chris that he didn't have to question, but Buck was exhausted and shot and hungry. First things first.

The bandage was water-flecked but Buck didn't seem to care, and the smell of smoke still clung to him. Chris urged him forward under the shower spray and eased in behind him, parking his butt on the back of the tub and grabbing the little bottle of hotel shampoo to wash the stench out of Buck's hair. Buck tilted his head as ordered, reaching more than once to wipe soap from his eyes as the shower drove it down over his face. After, Chris let his hands wander, smoothing them over the broad shoulders, appreciating Buck in a way that felt new and precious and had everything to do with the fire he'd watched rage for hours.

"I'm okay, Chris," Buck repeated, the sound deep and damp in the humid room.

"I know," Chris lied. "I know."

Buck grunted and turned then, and maneuvered to his knees. "Come on, let's get out of here."

Buck didn't typically turn down sex in the shower, and it might have worried Chris if he couldn't see how tired his lover was. Chris boosted himself up and climbed out first, handing back a towel. "Breakfast's getting cold."

After he re-bandaged Buck's arm, Chris sat naked on the bed while Buck wolfed down food like he was still in the Navy and he only had three minutes to clean his plate. It comforted Chris, somehow, to watch it. As soon as the last of the syrup was chased around the Styrofoam container Buck set it aside and looked up at him.

"I could sleep for a week," he said, rubbing his bare belly.

Chris found his eyes drawn to the movement, to the smooth skin and the line of dark hair that ran down to his lover's groin. "I should go back to the hospital," he said, willing himself to stand up, dress, and leave. But Buck met him in the little aisle between the queen sized beds, and warm hands slid around his waist.

"In a little bit," Buck promised, "you can go."

"We don't have to--"

"Just settle down with me for a little while," Buck urged, and Chris gave in.

Curled together underneath the sheets, Chris just breathed Buck's smell, trying to drown himself in familiar scents and sensation. He couldn't help his dick getting hard, though he had no intention of doing anything about it... "So where are we gonna go?" he asked, trying to steer the conversation to neutral ground.

"Huh?"

"Us. Vacation. Where do you want to go?"

But Buck wasn't in a mood to be dissuaded, even for his own good. "Anywhere I can do this," he breathed, and started to slide down the bed.

Chris grabbed him by the hair. "Huh-uh, you don't have to--"

"Have I ever thought I have to?" Buck asked, irritated, and shook Chris's hand off him. In the end, Chris couldn't keep saying no, and he spread his legs, aching inside and out, as Buck curled up between them and bent his head.

Long, languid, loving minutes, then Chris shuddered as he came, fingers tangled in Buck's wet hair, and kept shivering long after Buck crawled back up him and dropped heavily to the mattress.

"Mmm," Buck smacked his lips, grinning, and Chris frowned, rolled, plastered himself to his partner's naked body and held on until the shakes finally left him. Buck settled down quick enough and Chris just lay there and listened to the slow, even breaths.

He couldn't help his hand wandering, but Buck's dick was no more than half hard, and a hand grabbed his wrist, stopping him. "I'm okay."

"You're turning down a hand job?" Chris asked, mock-surprised. "Should I call the press?"

Buck shrugged. "Tired. Pain pills. You can make it up to me when we get home."

Chris let Buck pull his hand away. He understood his partner's predicament, maybe better than anyone. But Buck was one of those men who, when he couldn't get it up, never seemed to mind. And his partners had sure as hell never suffered. 

They held each other in the quiet room until Chris came too close to falling asleep. "I should get back to the hospital," he finally whispered.

Buck's arm tightened at his waist. "Mmm hmm."

Chris chuckled a little when Buck kept holding on. "I'm serious."

"I'll come with you," Buck offered, rolling back and opening his eyes.

"No, you sleep. Ezra'll bring the car back, and he'll want somebody to bitch at anyway. I'd rather it was you than me."

Buck chuckled, the sound soft and familiar and soothing. "Okay. I'll relieve you in a few hours."

Chris didn't want to leave, but he forced himself to let go his lover and roll off the bed. Dressing silently, casting covert looks where Buck sprawled beneath the covers, Chris dragged it out as long as he could. Then, "You mind if I finish your coffee?"

"Nah. Was good though. Thanks."

"Yeah." Grabbing up the Styrofoam cup, he looked one last time at Buck, meeting the brilliant blue eyes, refusing to consider what it would be like never to have seen them again... he knew what that felt like, he didn't have to wonder.

"Get some rest," he said, and turned toward the door. "If you're lucky, you'll be asleep before he gets back."

Buck chuckled even as he curled up onto his side. "You think that'd stop him for a second?"

Chris forced a grin in reply. He knew the truth well enough. "No." Then, "I'll be back when I can." Before he could say anything else, he eased the door shut.

The Magnificent Seven and it characters @ MGM, the Trilogy Entertainment Group, the Mirisch Corporation and TNN, and was developed by John Watson and others.


	4. Skip Trace - The Big Score: Chapter 4

SKIP TRACE: THE BIG SCORE  
By Charlotte C. Hill and Maygra   
Universe: Skip Trace - This story frames a new AU where Chris and Buck are life partners running a bail bond agency out of Atlanta.  
Acknowledgements: Many thanks to Megan for morale and editorial support, as well as a few scenes .  
Pairing/Characters: C/B, Vin, Ezra, cameos by the Nathan, Josiah & JD  
Rating: NC17 (We mean, seriously...look who's writing this thing!)

Ingredients/warnings: Sex, often gratuitous but loving (because we can and because Buck begs so pretty). Vintage Camaros, Mustangs, and Ford two-tone trucks. Obligatory references to grits, sausage biscuits and Krispy Cremes (because, hey, it's set in Atlanta.) Stereotyped southern lawmen, stereotyped kindly US Marshalls, vague references to Native American ancestry and Dominoes Pizza (although not in the same sentence). Gucci shoes and Armani suits (because we only gave Ezra a little part and he counter-offered back for a better wardrobe.) Car washing, granola bars, cattle ranches in Wyoming, ex-lovers, and last but not least, beating up Vin because he wasn't getting any and Maygra pouted.

Feedback: yes, please, any kind, on or off list to charlottechill@yahoo.com and maygra@bellsouth.net. 

Chapter 16  
Tom Glenn was there ahead of him, talking to a couple of uniforms in the emergency room waiting area. On seeing Chris he broke away and held out an oversized manila envelope.

"This should get you clear through to Atlanta. When you get your flight information, let me know and I'll call ahead for you, try to ease the way wherever you have to change planes."

Chris took it, surprised. That was more than he expected and would certainly make it easier to get through airport security, because the best they could hope for was just one change of planes in Denver and a nonstop from there to Atlanta… "Thanks," he said, leafing through the paperwork to see what was there.

"The docs say Vin will be laid up at least a day, maybe two," Glenn continued, avoiding Chris's eyes. "They say ought to be kept in bed for at least a week, but he's not likely to get that, is he?"

Chris looked up. Glenn didn't sound bitter, but he didn't look happy and it struck Chris that the extra offers of assistance to get them through the airports were more for Tanner's sake than to make life easier for Chris and his men. "They'll take care of him, Tom. Even the state prosecutor wouldn't want him anything but ready for a hearing."

"Big money, a murder, shootings, fire and attempted murders… they may not be able to do much," Glenn said, but again, he sounded practical rather than bitter.

"We know people. Orrin knows more. And we'll get him to Atlanta without any trouble," he said, determinedly vague. Then held out his hand.

Tom stared hard at him for a moment, before his face relaxed and he shook. "All right, then." He chuckled. "Vin gets himself into some of the deepest shit piles… he'll be all right."

Chris didn't argue with the empty claim. He'd made the same kind of one all last night.

"What about the, ah, other man?"

He stopped himself just before "who?" slipped out. He was too tired for this. "What about him?"

"I haven't mentioned him to anybody yet," Glenn said hesitantly.

"Why not?" Chris said, wondering if he'd misjudged the man's devotion to duty.

"Because if I do, I'll have to officially identify him, and if he's who I think he is you'd have to take him to Oklahoma before Atlanta could have him." That did sound slightly angry, and Chris half thought he understood it. "I didn't even pull the warrant. I've filed open charges here for the fire and the assault. You're transporting a witness, but the others, I'm not comfortable about holding 'em more than forty-eight hours without giving them their phone calls..."

Unease twisted Chris's gut; this dance had too many partners, and too many steps for him to make anything more than a mess out of it. He needed Orrin to get him more information, needed Ezra to take point on the mechanics of this thing…

"Larabee?"

Chris jerked, and shook his head. "Sorry. Tired."

Glenn glared at him briefly. "For the fire alone I could hold them until a hearing's called, but they're US citizens. This isn't a lawsuit I'd like to carry to court, if you know what I mean. But assault on agents of the courts, endangering civilians, property damage…" Tom Glenn rattled off the charges like a litany of denial, or maybe it was justification. If he wasn't breaking the rules, he was bending them dangerously.

It was Chris's turn to look down, carefully sealing the envelope again. "Buck's catching some shut-eye right now. I'm sending Ezra back to the motel to make some calls, then do the same. We'll take care of Tanner, Tom," he offered again, because it was the only thing he could offer. "And Orrin Travis…he wants the truth, not just…"

"A scapegoat?" Tom supplied. "Maybe so. I did some checking of my own. And I'm going to keep on checking, just so you know."

"Fine by us," Chris agreed neutrally. This district covered a lot of territory, and Tom Glenn would be a great contact to have on their sides, after all this blew over. "I've still got your number; I'll let you know what I can."

Glenn nodded briefly. "I've got to go see Vin."

He left Chris then, abruptly, the set of his broad shoulders stiff. Definitely a man torn between loyalties. Speaking of loyalties…

His cell phone battery had died somewhere along the way this morning, so he'd left it at the hotel to recharge. He looked for a payphone and called collect.

The operator's voice was oddly clear as she said, "Mr. Orrin Travis? Collect call from Chris Larabee."

**Barbara Wilson, Travis's secretary, put them on hold and Chris cursed under his breath. But Travis's voice came through a minute later, a gruff, "I'll take it." Then, "Chris, there may be a problem with the money."

"That's the last goddamned thing I want to hear, Orrin," he snapped.

"I'm working on it and I'll do everything I can to—"

"You'd better," Chris said, not even wanting the details. He didn't want to hear how hard it would be, or how impossible. He'd had enough of both in the last twenty-four hours.

Travis fell silent as if waiting, then, "Chris? What's your status?"

"Buck's been shot but he's okay, sleeping it off," Chris said and had the grim satisfaction of hearing Travis curse softly.

"What else?"

"Tanner's gunshot from Atlanta almost went south on him and he's either in surgery or on his way out, they think he'll be okay. Locals still have the four shooters Whitney says James hired, a friend of Tanner's is sitting on Whitney for us so we can keep him from getting arrested here just yet, and we think we can get Tanner back home under the deadline."

"Now that you've got Whitney, I don't know how the hell you think you're going to collect. I can't see Stuart James paying you for getting him indicted on conspiracy to commit murder charges."

"Damn it, Orrin, you said that money was secure!"

"It is secure!" Travis said curtly. "It's also not yours yet. People don't just hand over millions like they hand over fifties, Mr. Larabee, and James' attorneys aren't fools."

"Well neither are you. So don't turn Buck and me into fools just because somebody else got stupid."

"Stuart James," Travis said heavily. "He got stupid."

Chris could feel himself swaying a little, and wondered why he hadn't gotten a decent breakfast for himself. He rubbed his forehead to try and work the caffeine deeper into his brain. "What don't I know?"

After a tense silence and a long sigh, Travis replied, "People are presenting to a grand jury here on human trafficking and international smuggling. They wanted to indict in Atlanta to get James out of Texas, because they're concerned that he has too much influence in the judicial system out there. With Jess being killed in this jurisdiction too…"

"They're going to pin that on James?"

"I wouldn't go that far," Travis said dryly, "but they're very interested in what Tanner and Whitney have to say. That's in ten days, so if James is as dirty as they think, he'd have wanted Tanner back here before the deadline so he could have him killed in a holding cell before he ever gets to talk."

Chris gritted his teeth. "Orrin, Buck got shot over this. And he and Ezra got chased up a mountain under sniper fire, and the forest almost lit up around them. I want a piece of James that's a hell of a lot bigger than this reward--"

"But let's start there. Make the deadline with Tanner. I'm waiting for a phone call from Charlene Cruz, the lead US attorney on this investigation. She'll want to get your suspects in Wyoming out of the system if she can--"

"Gonna be hard to do," Chris interrupted, smiling faintly. "Tom Glenn, the lead man from the marshals office, hasn't put them in yet." Chris waited a second, expecting a protest from Travis that he didn't get. "He's trying to help clear the way for Tanner without breaking any rules. Get to him quick and maybe we can make it like none of these people were ever here, at least until we let Wyoming charge them for the shit they just pulled. What are you gonna do, Orrin?"

"I have no idea, but let's keep our options open."

Yeah. That'd be nice. Chris rang off, annoyed and not feeling nearly as confident in Travis's ability to pull a solid gold rabbit out of his hat as he would like to feel. Buck would probably take it better than Chris was, but Ezra…lord, Ezra might just want to kill somebody. Or he'd come up with a scheme to con the money away anyhow. Chris chewed on that a moment, a slow smile lifting his lips. Maybe he should let Ezra have a go at it t.

An ancient lady behind a nurses' station told him Tanner was in recovery. That had been fast--or Chris had been slower than he'd thought. "Where's recovery?"

"Not for the public."

"Then where's Ezra Standish?"

She stiffened in surprise, then said, "Oh, sorry," and got him lost leading him down several hallways. "Right in here," she said quietly. "Please be aware that other patients are nearby."

"Uh, yeah. Thanks."

Ezra was dozing in a chair just inside the long, narrow room, but he jerked awake when Chris walked in, hand sliding beneath his jacket.

"Tell me you're gonna pull out a comb," Chris muttered. Not even Ezra would bring a gun into a surgery post-op-- strike that, Ezra would be the first. "You think he's in any condition to run away?"

"I don't particularly care about him," Ezra said. "I'm not in any condition to run, and we don't know that we've collected all of the pawns."

It was pretty bad, as Ezra's excuses went, but Chris just nodded, then frowned when he took in Ezra's bare toes sticking out of white gauze wrapping. "What the hell happened to you?"

"Fire? Shooting? Running? Freezing? Climbing up and then skidding back down the side of a mountain? Pick one," he mumbled snidely, but quietly, in deference to Tanner who slept on the nearest gurney or just to hospitals in general.

"No shit, Ez, what's wrong with you?" and would it be wrong with Buck, too? Something the doctors hadn't checked?

"Blisters," he said flatly. "Chill. Possibly some sort of allergic reaction to wilderness, and they think I'm going to have a wonderful case of tendonitis. I expect paid sick leave from you two," he added darkly.

"You did good, Ezra," Chris repeated his words from the car. Under the circumstances, it was worth mentioning twice.

"I know I did." Ezra was nothing if not graceless, when the mood took him; it came part and parcel with everything good and useful about him.

"Looks like you really could use some sleep," he said, before Ezra could puff himself up anymore. "Can you drive like that?"

"I walked down the damned mountain, didn't I?"

Chris grinned at that, and hoped for Ezra's sake that Orrin could figure out a way for them to cash the check. "Half a mil, huh? Here are the keys. But don't wreck the car; you're not an authorized driver."

"Where's the hotel?"

Chris gave him directions, then glanced over at their sleeping captive. "He wake up at all?"

"Not to my knowledge."

"Okay. Who has his stuff?"

"That would be you." Ezra grinned, shark-like. "Oh, I'm sure his clothes are in a hospital bag somewhere, but his wallet is in my computer bag, which is in the trunk of the rental."

"Fetch it for me then you can get out of here."

Ezra slipped out the door and returned a couple of minutes later, one hand still on the door handle and the other holding out the wallet. "Here. Goodbye."

As Ezra pivoted, Chris grabbed his jacket sleeve before he could escape. "There may be problems. Glenn's clearing the way for us from this end, and the suspects haven't been tagged or logged into anybody's systems yet. I just talked to him and he's working a plan, but if you want you can get on it because I have a feeling your twisted brain's gonna be a great asset to us."

"As it is any other day?" Ezra deadpanned. "I honestly don't know how you people got along without me."

"And I don't know how you stayed out of jail without us--oh, wait, you didn't."

Ezra's eyes narrowed in the briefest flash of anger. "I won't dignify that with a reply," he said stiffly, which said a lot about just how tired he was.

"You been medicated?" Chris asked, watching the keys click in Ezra's hand.

"No."

Ezra wouldn't be above lying just to get control of the car, but it had been a couple of hours and the hotel was less than two miles away. "All right, then, go on," Chris nodded, dismissing him. "And don't wake up Buck!"

Ezra barely dropped his head before muttering, "Don't wake up Buck!" under his breath, but Chris knew they were all better off if he let Ezra bitch without comment.

"One more thing before you leave."

Ezra glared. "Tanner's unconscious. Your precious partner is ensconced in a bed, probably well fed, resting comfortably. But I'm still standing here in bare feet wrapped in gauze and tape. What, exactly, are you trying to punish me for?"

"What did you tell the hospital staff?"

Ezra's glare didn't lessen, but he said flatly, "That I was a doctor and you were my partner, and we were tasked by the US Marshals to be with Mr. Tanner at all times." He blanched slightly. "Damn, Chris, they tried to put me in scrubs and escort me into the operating room!"

Chris chuckled, low. "That's what you get for being such a great bullshitter, Ez. Go on now, get out of here."

Ezra took off without another word, leaving Chris in the room with only the beeping of monitors and the barely audible sound of Tanner's breathing to fill the silence. Two more people were unconscious on gurneys further away, but he steered clear of all of the patients, afraid that someone would come in and ask him a medical question he couldn't answer. Instead he took over Ezra's chair and just stared at Tanner's unconscious form. The man looked better than he ought to, having just come from surgery and days on days of running.

Time passed slowly, marked by the beeping of Tanner's heart rate monitor and the painfully slow stretch of shadows as the sun moved on its arc outside the window. It was easy to zone out though, to fall into some half-asleep state where he and Buck were back at the farm, curled up in bed together, sleeping a sleep of the innocent that neither of them had ever deserved. He took some comfort from the fact that Buck had gotten at least a nap in before Ezra reached the hotel, because there was no doubt in his mind that Standish would wake Buck just to have someone to complain to.

It was all right. Buck was all right. Just tired. Just… his groin tingled at the memory of intimate kisses, at Buck's unselfish desire to soothe the people he cared for.

He shook himself, hard. Now wasn't the time for mooning like some lovesick calf, not when everything was all right and the smell of smoke had finally been washed from them both. Now was the time to take care of business.

He flipped the wallet over in his hands a couple of times, worried somehow about what he'd find inside. Too tired for this… When he opened the worn billfold and the first thing he saw was the driver's license, Wyoming issue, he grinned. Had it been Buck, or Ezra who had made sure this thing existed? There was a hefty chunk of cash, which Chris ignored. Credit card, library card, bondsman's license and several business cards. Discharge-- general, frayed at the edges, he wondered what the story was there.

Tucked in a little side pocket was a very old, very worn photo of a young woman. It had been laminated but it was fading anyway, and cracked with age.

"Put it back," the voice, soft and rough, called from the bed.

Chris looked up to find a dopy, blue-eyed gaze on him. "Who is she?"

"Mother," Tanner said quietly. "Be careful with it, okay?"

Chris slid the photo back in its place, and the wallet into the pocket of his jacket. "Where was it?"

"Rental car in Denver," Vin admitted.

Chris refused to display his irritation with himself. Buck had been right, and if they'd had Ezra check it out they'd be in Atlanta right now.

"Any idea what Ez did with my backpack?" Tanner asked tiredly.

Ez? When the hell had Ezra P. Standish become "Ez" to this guy? One thing at a time. Chris tracked back, remembered something Ezra had dropped on the ground. "It's probably still in your back yard. That's about as far as Ezra got it."

"Good," Tanner breathed out on a sigh, and his pale lids drifted shut.

"How are you feeling?"

"Like shit," Tanner admitted weakly. "Think I'm gonna throw up."

"It's the anesthetic," Chris supplied. He'd been this route a few times before. "I'll go find a nurse."

Even as Chris turned to open the door, a no-nonsense native American woman in faded hospital scrubs walked in. "How are we feeling?" she asked, and Chris almost grinned when Tanner blanched. Buck wasn't one for the medicinal "we," either…

"Gonna be sick…"

A kidney bowl appeared like magic just as Vin started to heave. Chris looked away, fingering the wallet in his jacket pocket, and moved to stand in a corner of the room while the nurse wiped Tanner's face then prodded gently at him. He felt a certain compassion for the man in the bed. The road ahead wasn't a pretty one.

"He okay?" he asked, nervous without knowing why.

"He'll be fine, doctor," the nurse assured. "He came through surgery like a trooper. If he shakes off the anesthetic quickly, we can release him tomorrow. As for now, he's ready to be moved to a private room."

"Um, yes. Good." Doctor Larabee. How the hell had Ezra stayed out of jail long enough for Orrin to find him? Chris would never know.

The room transfer took longer than it sounded like it should; the doctor on the floor had to peel back the gauze, flick a light in Tanner's eyes, shoot something from a hypodermic into his IV line, and call some orderly or something to wheel him down from the second floor surgery to the regular rooms on the first floor. When it was over and he was following the hospital bed into one of those normal, disinfectant-smelling hospital rooms, he reflected that he shouldn't have been surprised that someone else had beaten him here.

Chanu Reeves and his wife, Claire, stood hand in hand near the window, and while the woman betrayed more expression than the man, concern was obvious from both of them. Tom Glenn stood near them, and Chris couldn’t miss the unease on the marshal's face. It made him wonder what, exactly, this Vin Tanner was made of, to earn the loyalty these people showed. Hell, Buck was growing a similar respect for the man.

Chris reached into his pocket and fingered Tanner's wallet, wondering what other secrets might be hidden there. He thought maybe he'd learn more from watching these people, these… friends.

This was more Buck's purview, getting a feel for people, but it was easy to catch the glistening of tears in Claire Reeves' eyes. She loved Vin Tanner; he was family to her, and no less to her husband. Two horses and a dog that ain't mine… Tanner didn't know what he had, and the thought evoked an eerily familiar sensation in Chris's gut. He knew that feeling, all too well.

Tom Glenn gave him a nod in greeting, and Chanu Reeves spared him a glance but that was all. Feeling oddly out of place, he tried to be as unobtrusive as he could, not wanting to eavesdrop but not entirely willing to leave the room either. It didn't seem to matter; for all the attention he did get he might as well have been invisible.

Claire Reeves was fussing without actually seeming to, while her husband merely sat on the edge of the bed, voice low in the fluidly guttural language Chris had heard at the ranch. Shoshone, he supposed, not surprised when Tanner woke up and answered, muzzily, in the same tongue. Their conversation stretched for a few minutes, and Chris cast covert glances at Tom Glenn, wondering if the man understood the language or was as shut out as Chris. He couldn't tell from looking, but Glenn stepped up when Vin started breathing deeply and slowly, and spoke in English.

Glenn didn't stay long, or ask Tanner any questions of importance, just lots of "glad you're okays," and "anything I need to know," until Mrs. Reeves literally shooed him away from the bed.

"Later, Tom, all right?" she said, in a tone that sounded like a question but had Reeves, Tanner and Chris swallowing smiles. Glenn must've been married, because he sighed and stepped away, tipping an imaginary hat.

"Claire. I'll come back this afternoon, or send Cody by," he said, excusing himself, and jerking his head to have Chris step out in the hall with him.

"Need something?" Chris asked.

"Only to give them a little time," Glenn said. "He's not going anywhere and Chanu promised he wouldn't do anything."

Chris stared at him dumbly. "He's still puking from anesthetic. What could he do?"

Glenn gave him a slightly amused look. "You taken a look at the staff here?" he asked. "Half of them are from the reservation. Or were born there at least. Vin may look white, but most folks around here don't think of him like that."

"He's wanted on a murder charge," Chris said. "Doesn't that trump treaty law or whatever it is?"

"Yup. But there's a reason why when someone goes to ground on the res, we call up Chanu or Vin. The law isn't worth shit if you can't find your suspect."

"You really think he'd try something?" Chris asked, wondering if he should go in there and handcuff Tanner to the bed right now.

Glenn shrugged. "Maybe. If he could. But he promised he wouldn't."

"You put a lot of stock in his word," Chris muttered.

"He's earned it," Glenn replied, seemingly unconcerned. "You, on the other hand, you're still an unknown. It's your word I'm putting stock in," Glenn reminded, and there was a glint in his eye that gave Chris some indication of how Glenn had reached commander, in a territory that routinely tapped the skills of the natives to track suspects.

Chris chewed on that for a few moments then looked up as the Reeves emerged. "He's sleeping," Claire said, looking at them both. Her face was dry and she was nearly as inscrutable as her husband, but there was a brightness to her eyes that gave some indication of how she was really feeling.

"We're gonna go pick him up some clothes, for when they let him out, see if there's anything left at his place," Reeves said. "Can I send a crew down to the cabin, Tom, or do you need to do something there?" he asked.

Tom put his hat back on and gave it a light touch in Chris's direction. Chanu and Claire said not a word to Chris, and he realized they were going to leave without a word to him, and spoke up. "Vin asked for his backpack," he said quietly, trying to ingratiate himself. "Ezra brought it back, but I lost track of it in his backyard. Maybe you could check on that for him?"

Glenn grinned just slightly, and Chanu frowned, and Chris figured his effort was a tad more transparent than Ezra's would have been. Still… "He asked about it, I figure there's something in it he cares for."

"We'll fetch it," Claire said, either missing his motivation or not minding it. She turned down the hall and both men followed in her wake, and Chris watched for a moment before stepping back inside Tanner's room.

He was asleep, the lights dimmed low and the curtains drawn save for a patch directly across from Tanner's line of sight. Pulling a chair up, Chris tried to get comfortable and convince himself that half a million dollars was worth this.

Chapter 17

Buck fell in and out of medicated sleep until, eventually, the constant drone of a television pulled him out. He blinked, glanced at the nightstand clock: 1:27. Three good hours. Not bad. Blearily, he looked at the TV and blinked again when the dark screen registered on him. What the hell was making all that noise?

Oh. Ezra.

Buck frowned and yawned, started to sit up then cursed under his breath as he used his injured arm wrong. From his perch on the edge of the dresser, Ezra cast him a look of apology, but the near-monologue on the phone didn't pause. Buck rolled to his side, breathing in deeply to try and shake off the veil of fog in his brain. His arm throbbed and he glared resentfully at it.

"What're you doing?" he asked Ezra when the man finally hung up on the call.

"Everything." Then, tiredly, "Chris said the money was at risk. I understand that he told Orrin Travis all of his ideas about Vin Tanner's probable innocence?"

The accusation was so harsh, Buck had to work not to look guilty. "He probably is innocent."

"Still…"

"Work with that, Ezra," Buck snapped, still too tired to do much good.

"I am working with it. You've both left me no choice but to work with it. But damn it, Buck! Couldn't we have turned him in, cashed the check, and then told Orrin all of your theories?"

"If we'd wanted to tell 'em about a corpse, yeah," Buck said. "I get the feeling if we don't do something for Vin, James'll just figure out a way to have him killed in jail."

Ezra stiffened, then blew out a long, slow breath. "He could regardless of your efforts," he said more gently, "and you'll only berate yourself."

"No help for that," Buck admitted. He didn't like the idea of having even a drop of that blood on his hands. They shouldn't have taken this job, he decided not for the first time. But they had, and there was no way through but forward, and if things worked out okay for Vin he'd take some comfort in that. "So let's just see if we can keep it from happening. What's going on back in Atlanta?"

"Want some lunch?"

"Huh?"

"I used words of one syllable," Ezra grinned. "If you're going to try to work, we might as well eat. Up for a walk over to the hotel's restaurant? They have excellent coffee."

"Haven't you slept any?"

"I will," Ezra dismissed the concern. "Right now, my feet are killing me and I didn't want to waste the business hours. But they stop serving at two o'clock."

"Yeah, I could go for some grub," he said, testing the words and scratching his jaw.

"Great. Shave. You can help me get my notes into some kind of order."

"This is Wyoming, you don't think I can slide by for a day without a shave?"

Ezra leaned forward, eyes squinting with close examination. "You haven't seen yourself."

Buck chuckled, stomach growling with the thought of food, and gave in. He threw back the covers, and the way Ezra turned away to his computer and various sheets of paper spread across the dresser reminded Buck that he was still naked. Not something men usually cared about, and not something that bothered Ezra in and of itself, but Buck knew Ezra could make a good guess at what had transpired in this bed earlier, and the man was painfully squeamish about such things.

"Don't know what you're missing," he teased evilly, stepping a little closer than necessary as he rounded the bed.

"Let's keep it that way," Ezra shot back, but there was humor in his voice, and Buck decided everything was plenty fine.

Five minutes later, shaved, relieved and dressed, Buck followed Ezra out the hotel room door, carrying his computer for him. "What's wrong with your feet?"

"Nothing, I'm fine."

Buck left it alone for the moment. Ezra didn't like folks fussing over him if he was really hurt, so it was something to worry about later.

"How's your arm?" Ezra asked.

"It's all right. Sure is pretty country." And it was. They were just passing the pool, and a couple lounged in jeans near a pair of splashing kids, the only ones brave enough to suffer the cold water. Beyond it lay a little strip of parking lot and the road, a hotel across the street that advertised "special in-room" movies and ESPN, and then a flat plain all the way to the mountains. Reeves' place must have more altitude than he'd realized, or else the hills were closer behind him than he'd thought. He turned a slow pivot, looking around-- there, the upsweep toward the rocky, tree-riddled mountains to the south, and for a second he thought he could see smoke. No. Vin's place was tucked back behind the nearer hill, and there was no chance of seeing anything from here.

"I'm starving," Ezra called, and he jerked around to where Ezra stood holding the restaurant door.

"Sorry."

"You need more sleep than you got," Ezra asided, frowning.

"So do you."

"I never said I didn't," Ezra muttered, and Buck grinned, fighting back the urge to smack Ezra on the back of the head. As it was, they got seated and waited on promptly by a pretty woman in her late twenties. Buck filled the time while Ezra perused the menu flirting with her, looking for the key that would make her smile. Turned out she had a little girl, four years old, and all Buck had to do was ask about the girl to make her smile slip out. Ten years ago, she'd have slipped out of that polyester dress too, and they'd both have been happier for it, but these days… he looked toward Ezra, wondering if the guy would appreciate him trying to make a date for them… not today. Ezra would be too tired to appreciate the one night stand, maybe too tired even to be the gentleman Buck demanded he be in a situation like this.

Sure enough, Ezra ordered without even looking up. "Number three, no mayonnaise, salad, oil-free Italian dressing on the side, no fries, now run along," then he waved the menu in the air until she caught it and walked away.

"Now…" Ezra froze when he finally made eye contact. "What?"

"I got that woman smiling, and you wiped it off her face like you were trying on purpose," he grumbled.

"I was. She'll hover if I let you keep doing that. We don't know who she knows around here."

Buck sighed and shook his head. Ezra had no romance in him, no romance at all. "All right," he caved, "what have we got?"

"We have an injured man wanted by law enforcement for murder, the judiciary for questioning, and a criminal for execution. We have Eli Joe Whitney, who no one in Atlanta thinks can fill in the holes Jess Kincaid was apparently filling in a case brought to grand jury by Assistant US Attorney Jim Palminteri. We have four shooters, only one of whom is offering to consider a deal, while the other three just keep clamoring for their lawyers and bondspeople, and whose cell phones Marshal Cody Hampton assures me are building up substantial voicemails in an evidence locker." He looked up from under his brows. "That's the worst part, in my opinion-- local news has reported the fire, and more than one firefighter spoke to the press, so gunshot reports have leaked as well. The upside is that this is Wyoming, so people shooting at each other really isn't that newsworthy, and Mr. Reeves misled the reporter about Tanner's whereabouts. I don't have any evidence that the story has garnered broader attention."

Buck chuckled, glancing around for the waitress and his coffee. Ezra might've run her off for good.

"Our only piece of luck is that Jim Palminteri and Charlene Cruz are dating."

Buck looked over in surprise. "Charlie got herself a man? Good for her," Buck cheered. 

"Can you keep your nose out of other people's sex lives for ten seconds?" Ezra scolded.

"You're the one said it was important," he grinned. There she was… "Katy!" he called, "about that coffee, darlin'…" Ezra looked like his blood pressure was creeping up, so Buck straightened a little in his chair. "Okay, keep going. Why is Charlene's sex life important to us?"

"Because Orrin Travis said that Jim Palminteri didn't reject her bid to second chair this prosecution. She's the contact to Whitney now, thanks to Travis, and also to Tanner. Palminteri apparently didn't even know a fast pickup was out on our Mr. Tanner, which further implicates James in the eyes of the prosecution."

Buck had reached the point where he didn't need much else to implicate Stuart James. Except, well… a little evidence wouldn't kill him.

"Ms. Cruz reviewed Whitney's rap sheet and is researching his credit cards and other traceable financial activity over the last several months. We'll have something of an inside connection to the case."

Buck listened as attentively as he could while Katy filled his coffee cup and he inhaled that magic aroma of wakefulness. "Okay. Where does that leave everybody?" Ezra waited for the waitress to leave, and Buck smirked. Suspicious. Had he called Ezra suspicious, already?

"Orrin and I discussed the possibility of turning Tanner in to the locals in Atlanta, but having him held in the infirmary. You and Chris might want to call on old friends. We'd need some kind of discreet protective custody on him in there, because as long as Tanner is legally put into the system Orrin thinks he can shake our money loose. He has already promised to put up the bail on Vin, as long as he's comfortable with the surety, so I told him you and Chris would sign for him."

"Now wait a minute, Chris isn't gonna go for that…"

"Then it'll be your job to convince him. And don't even think about telling me how you plan to do it," he added before Buck could draw breath. "Orrin thinks the half a million you're about to earn on Tanner makes you solvent enough to suit his tastes. As soon as Tanner is remanded into the custody of W&L, Josiah and I will turn Whitney in. Then one of you rushes the check to James' bank and purchases five one-hundred-thousand-dollar money orders, which I strongly recommend we fly to the Caymans and deposit offshore. After--"

"Ezra," Buck interrupted, tired again solely from listening to the man, "talking fast isn't gonna get you what you want. Give me one good reason W&L should take on his bail surety."

"The first is that you want to," he said shortly, and held up a staying hand. "We're both tired, Buck, so don't waste your time denying it. The other five hundred thousand…" he raised his eyebrows expectantly, and when Buck subsided he dived right back into his monologue. "After the feds have gotten what they can from Whitney, they will absolutely without a doubt expect to get their fair share of Vin Tanner, and at some point along the way we should bring in the four shooters. Cody Hampton said he doesn't think Glenn will hold them locally for more than another day, so I thought," he paused and sighed longsuffering, and Buck knew what he was going to say before he said it. "I thought I could bring JD back for them."

"You know, Ezra, you'd enjoy life more if you could trust people here and there," Buck commented.

"I do trust people, Buck," Ezra said, frowning. "You, Chris, Josiah, Nathan… JD when he isn't excited… my mother when she isn't short on cash. I don't trust Stuart James."

Buck stared for a long moment, wondering if Ezra was sincere in his exhaustion, or still trying to grease wheels. "All right. Maybe."

"I can live with maybe," Ezra pronounced as the food arrived. He reached into his pants pocket, pulled out a prescription bottle and shook a pill into his hand before handing the bottle over. "Here, they'll work better before you fill your stomach."

"Pain pills?" he asked, then looked at the label. "My pain pills?"

Ezra shrugged and tossed his down. "They didn't give me any, and the lydocaine they used as a local on my feet has most definitely worn off."

"I can't take these. I'll fall asleep again."

"That's the idea," Ezra said. "We eat, you call Travis and tell him I ran the plan by you and received your approval, and he keeps things moving forward. Then we get some much-deserved rest."

Buck couldn't argue much with that. "I should call Chris…"

"And tell him what, that you're awake? That's the last thing he'd want to hear right now. Besides, he left his phone in the room."

Buck shook the bottle absently, turning various options over in his mind. Man had a point. "Give me your cell, I'll call Orrin right now, before these make me stupid."

"I assure you, Buck," Ezra said mildly as he stuffed a piece of steak into his mouth, "I couldn't tell any difference."

Everybody was a comedian.

W&L • W&L • W&L

A doctor woke Chris up. He couldn't believe he'd fallen asleep, but the quiet room, the bright slash of sun through the gap in the curtains, and the steady, quiet beeping of monitors, had all gotten to him.

A nurse stood there too, examining Tanner's IV line, talking quietly to Tanner who looked to be in a lot more pain now than… Chris checked his watch: almost an hour ago. He cleared his throat and stepped up to the bed.

"No more drugs," was the first thing he heard Tanner say. "Can't shake this anesthetic if y'all keep pumping me full of that other stuff."

"What's your pain like?" the doctor asked him, peeling back the gauze bandaging at his flank.

"Not bad," he said, and Chris knew he was lying. Apparently the doctor did too, but he focused on the wound and prodded the inflamed mess of surgical incision and stitches. They'd stripped him pretty much bare, laying open the hospital robe all along one side, and Chris saw the big muscles of Tanner's thigh twitch with tension every time the doctor poked.

"Can you turn over?"

Tanner eased onto his side and the nurse expertly flipped fabric over his crotch. Chris stepped around, getting an idea of what they'd be dealing with on the flight home. The surgeons had cut at the exit wound pretty extensively, and the flesh was pulled damned tight. "That gonna need a graft?"

The doctor turned, peeled off his gloves and held out a hand. "Dr. Standish?" he asked, and Chris smiled wanly.

"Larabee. Standish was here earlier."

"Ah. I'm Dr. Wells. And this isn't something we'd typically graft, unless scar tissue develops in such a way that it restricts his lateral motion. I suppose other facilities might make a different choice…"

"I'm not asking you to do one, doctor. I'm just concerned that he needs to be able to walk tomorrow, and fly."

"He shouldn't do either, particularly the flying."

"Well, folks shouldn't do a lot of things," he said, staring down at Tanner. Damned if the man wasn't grinning at him.

"Altitude, pressure--he shouldn't fly for at least several days, Doctor Larabee."

"I understand," he said, glancing at Tanner again, "but unless you're saying we could have an emergency landing on our hands due to complications from surgery, this man needs to be returned to Atlanta as soon as possible."

"That could happen," the doctor said.

"Bill, it's okay," Vin said, breaking in on their confrontation. "I gotta go back there."

"You sure, Vin? You really aren't ready for that kind of a trip…"

Jesus, did everybody know everybody out here? Did they marry their cousins, or what?

"That's what folks keep tellin' me, but I got from Atlanta to home without y'all's help. I figure you've patched me up good enough to let me take one little plane ride back there." He rolled onto his back and flipped his own robe closed. "Besides, I need to fetch my truck." Then, grinning a touch more widely, he added, "I hear tell that Dr. Standish especially is real experienced in this kind of injury. Don't worry about me."

As soon as the doctor and nurse cleared out, Tanner eased back onto his hip. "Dr. Larabee? I c'n see Buck playin' doctor now and again, but you?"

"Shut up," Chris grated.

"Yeah," Tanner went on, "I see you more as the prison guard if you could get ol' Buck to stay still and be the naughty inmate." He was chortling now, and Chris actually felt embarrassed. Not many men pried into his and Buck's private life, and even fewer had the nerve to tease him about it. Buck would get up for any game, and the idea that this guy guessed it…

"Who do you think he operates on?" The words slipped out before he could stop them, and he almost bit his tongue, he clamped his mouth shut so fast.

"Ow! Shit, don't make me laugh, Larabee!" He was trembling on the bed, hands wrapped around his belly and his face a mix of amusement and real pain.

Chris stepped a little closer. "Not something I'm usually accused of," he tried weakly.

Tanner quieted down, and dropped heavily back to suck in a few careful breaths. "I reckon it was Ezra who fed 'em that doctor stuff. Just make sure you get us the hell out of there 'fore they find out. Country doctors don't take kindly to being conned."

"I've got news for you Vin: nobody does."

That sobered him a little, and he nodded slowly. "Guess you've got something, there," he said quietly. "So, where's Ez?"

"Back at the hotel working."

"Buck?"

"Back at the hotel sleeping," Chris said, and scrubbed at his face. He wanted to be there himself, but he wasn't up to the politics yet, and planned to avoid them at least until he got another night's sleep.

"You sure it's not the other way around?" Tanner asked with a frown.

"Not if Ezra knows what's good for him, it's not," Chris glowered.

The silence stretched and Chris moved to the window, staring unseeing at the civilization nearby, and the lack of it in the distance. "You take good care of him," Tanner said into the growing silence, and Chris flinched, turned around to stare hard at implacable eyes.

"I let him get shot," he breathed.

"Ah, bullshit."

Chris didn't reply. Damn, but he was tired, and now he wanted to call the hotel to check on Buck, but the phone would wake him quicker than anything Ezra might be doing. He hadn't pulled the trigger, or done anything like that, but if Buck had his way they'd still be in bed at the farm. They'd have slept and run around and had loads of good sex. Watched a little TV… gone in to the office just enough to light fires under anybody who needed the motivation and for Buck to hang around with JD for a bit, then gone back to the farm for more sleep, more sex, more TV…

"You mind opening the curtains a little wider?"

Chris tensed and turned. "How much?"

"All the way. Couple of the windows are dormers, too. Wouldn't mind if you slid them open while you're at it."

Chris did as asked, trying not to think about everything that had gone wrong, everything that could have. It wasn't their way, to dwell on such things, and maybe it was just the stink of hospital antiseptic that wouldn't let him move on. After he'd opened all the curtains and two of the windows, he went to close the hospital room door to keep a draft from building that would call attention from the staff. Then he found himself leaning against the wall by the door, eyes absorbed in that unpeopled land out there that stretched on and on.

"Damn, how do you two tolerate this line of work if you get this wound up over a little messiness?"

Chris didn't reply, wasn't going to get sucked into a conversation with this stranger.

"Buck said he didn't want to take this job… so it was you who signed on for it? That why you think it's your fault?"

"What else did he say?" Chris demanded then, irritated that the guy kept calling Buck by his first name, and Ezra "Ez," and seemed to know so much about them.

Tanner shrugged. "Lot of things. Other things didn't need sayin'. You didn't have nothing to do with him being shot," he repeated. "That was all Eli Joe, and whoever holds his leash these days."

Chris rolled the words over in his mind for a second, and the situation for a minute longer than that. Talk to him yourself, Buck had said. If you two had met under different circumstances, you'd have liked him right off. So he dragged the chair up next to the bed and settled heavily into it, giving this man all of his attention. He'd kept wanting to before, and wanting just as much not to, because he was too tired and too frustrated after Tanner's escape in Kansas to try and sift through the facts versus the feeling in his gut.

And like it or not, Buck's opinion was suspect because the bastard was still swayed by a pretty face. "Tell me everything," he said. "Start at the beginning."

Chapter 18

Buck arrived a little after six to find Chris cooling his heels in a folding chair just outside Vin's room.

"Thought you'd still be sleeping," Chris said softly, greeting him with a touch.

"I got a few hours in. Then Ezra turned on the TV."

"Figures. I told him not to bother you."

"Hey, he didn't wake me up the minute he walked in the door," Buck chided. "He's getting better. Have you eaten?"

"No," Chris admitted.

"Ought to fix that," Buck said absently, staring at the barely open door. "He wake up at all?"

"Yeah."

Great, Chris was in one of his monosyllabic moods. Buck raised his eyebrows. "And?"

"And nothing," Chris frowned. "He woke up, refused pain meds which pretty much means he stayed awake after that. He's had visitors. He's fine."

"Yeah, well," Buck mused, working at the puzzle that was his partner. Chris though was squirming without knowing it, and looked like he was steeling himself for an interrogation. "Chris?"

Hazel eyes met his and then danced away. "What?" he snapped.

The light went on then; Chris had crossed the professional line sometime this afternoon, and knew it, and wanted desperately to hide it. Buck didn't quite grin. "Come on, let's go scare up some grub." And you can tell me all about it.

Chris frowned and shook his head. "I want one of us on him at all times."

"He's not going anywhere."

"That's what I thought in Salina," Chris shot back. "As far as I'm concerned, he gets a shadow right up until we turn him over to the police."

Buck shrugged. "Suit yourself. Who's in there?" Buck expected some procedure or other, nurses and doctors tending not to like witnesses.

"Visitors. Reeves and his wife. You look a hell of a lot better."

Buck grinned and leaned against the wall next to him. "I always look good," he said and grinned wider at Chris's snort. "Feel better. Sleep was exactly what I needed. Which reminds me…" He fished out Chris's phone and handed it over. "Woke up around lunchtime for an hour or so. Ezra's done good work with Orrin, I think. At least, Orrin sounds as happy as he ever does."

Chris pocketed his phone without turning it on. "So what's the plan?"

Buck eased a half-step closer and nudged Chris's boot with his own. "You don't want to know," he joked, and smiled when his partner sighed.

Buck hadn't gotten far into his monologue when the door opened a little wider and he had to step back as a woman emerged, half smile on her face as she looked back. Blonde hair fell in a braid to the middle of her back, shorter tendrils escaping to frame a perfect oval face and a pair of wide sky-blue eyes. She was slim with a generous curve to her breast and hips, even under the loose, light-weight denim shirt she wore and snug blue jeans. Her hips had that womanly fullness that a model's ought to have, and the dusting of freckles across her face gave her a Midwestern farm girl beauty.

She was a prime representative of her gender.

"Beautiful..." Buck heard the word escape before he even thought about it and the woman turned, wide eyes fixed on his face, so he went after his patented save. "Day. Beautiful day," he added and heard Chris snicker. The woman stared a moment longer and her smile tightened a bit but she held out her hand.

"You must be Buck. Claire Reeves," she said and Buck took the slender, long-fingered hand in his, feeling calluses and strength there. She was obviously used to the hard work running a cattle farm could be, and the firm grip reminded him pleasantly of his mother's.

"Mrs. Reeves," Buck said. "Vin said you were the woman who stole his best friend's heart. I can see why."

"Vin said you were a smooth talker," Claire said and then smiled a little more genuinely. "He didn't say you were quite so handsome."

That got Buck grinning like a loon, while Chris made a barely audible retching sound behind him. "Well, I reckon he had other things on his mind," he said. "That was right kind of him, ma'am."

"Kinder than you," she said, and there was steel again, and her eyes shifted briefly to Chris.

"Hey now," Buck backpedaled, "I thought he was a fine specimen of a man."

Her smile was impulsive and unwitting, Buck's favorite kind, then she grew serious again. "Vin is family. I understand that you're just doing your jobs, but he isn't a criminal, no matter what you've been told."

"I'm getting to know him a little myself, Mrs. Reeves," Buck said soberly, "and I pretty much agree with you about that."

She stared hard, and Buck held up under the gaze, letting her see what she would. "I'm getting Vin a soda," she said then, slowly, like she was measuring her words. "You want anything?"

Chris shook his head and Buck said "No ma'am, thank you," adding to reinforce the fact to Chris, "we're going to go and grab some dinner around here in a little bit." She turned away, heading down the hallway to where the soda machines were, and Buck watched her go, appreciating every little lift and sway of her hips.

"Youch," he said softly. "You get the impression we're not scoring points with the locals?"

Chris only grunted while Buck turned his head to peer through the open doorway.

He could see Vin's bed; one side rail had been let down, and the bed elevated so that Vin was almost sitting up. His other visitor was sitting on the edge of the bed, presenting mostly back to the door. Blue-black hair fell in loose, straight sheets to his back, and when he reached over to get water for Vin, Buck caught a glimpse of the classic profile, smooth skinned, high, proud cheekbones and a sculpted nose -- Chanu Reeves could have been a model for the half-dozen native American monuments in and around Lander. He held the cup for Vin, and slipped a hand under his neck. Sitting up or bending at the waist looked to be uncomfortable if not painful for Vin, something he expressed to Chanu when he'd hidden it from Buck and Ezra. Or maybe, like his own arm, it was just worse after surgery.

A glint of metal caught his eye. "You cuffed him?" he whispered, astonished.

"Hell yes."

"You know that he's post-surgical, right? IV still stuck in him? Besides, he promised me he wasn't going to run."

"Oh, now I feel so much better," Chris grumbled.

Buck stepped a little nearer the door, just checking on Vin's color. He didn't intend to eavesdrop, but even if he'd wanted to he didn't recognize the language. He pulled his head back and leaned against the hallway wall, then rolled his head to look at Chris.

Chris wasn't doing much more than staring at his hands, broken nails and scrapes on his knuckles. "How'd you do that?"

"Helped Reeves pull a section of fence down while we were waiting to hear from you." Buck kept staring, and after a second he reached to brush a finger over the worst of the scrapes.

Yeah, he could picture that; Chris would've been crawling out of his skin, would probably have offered to wrestle alligators just to get his mind off things. Buck realized that Chris hadn't been drunk this morning, and felt a wash of emotion, relief maybe, love for sure, that Chris had borne up under the strain without falling back on old habits. "Distracted, were you?" he asked, consoling a little.

Chris looked at him then, something desperate and deep in his eyes, and his hand turned in Buck's to grasp it tightly. "Don't," he said stiffly, before letting go. Then, "Nice spread the Reeves have got. Got some nice breeding studs too."

Buck could understand. There was nothing to be gained by rehashing everything, especially not here and now. "His place on the res?"

"Straddles it... his house, bunkhouse, barns, they're all another mile or so up past Tanner's place."

Tanner's place, Reeves' place… "They grew up together," Buck said, wondering what if anything Chris had learned, or guessed. "Once upon a time...he said they were that close. You and me close."

Chris's head came up, expression torn between anger and dismay, but he wasn't looking at Buck. Buck felt that prickle that told him he'd put his foot in it and looked around slowly to see Claire Reeves there again -- he was partially blocking the door.

For a moment he thought she might not have heard him, her expression was that neutral. Buck cleared his throat and stepped back. Claire gave him a little nod of her head, regal as a queen, and went forward. Just in the doorframe she stopped. "I knew, Mr. Wilmington. My husband doesn't lie to me. Neither does Vin. As for close," she frowned slightly, "they're brothers now, and always will be."

Buck didn't know if she was lying to herself or Vin was, but she kept moving; he had to look, to see Chanu scoot back on the bed so Claire could sit near Vin and fix his soda in the cup with the straw and then try to do as her husband had, to hold it while he drank. A flash of emotion, then a grin, touched Vin's face before he batted her free hand and carefully took the cup from her. One of those strong hands came forward to push the hair off Vin's forehead, gentle as a mother's touch, and Chanu's arm slid around his wife's waist.

It wasn't lost on Buck that Vin let Chanu do things he wouldn't let this woman do, even though Vin's face was open and tight, his pain and fatigue not hidden from these people.

"You really do have the worst timing sometimes," Chris said quietly.

"Yeah," Buck admitted, but he wasn't entirely sure it was true. Looking at Claire Reeves now, where she sat between Vin and Chanu, he couldn't shake stark memories of Sarah, and how happy she and Chris had been. "You ever tell Sarah 'bout what we got up to when we were kids?" he asked, quiet.

"Hell, no!" Chris hissed, vehement. "Never told anybody," he muttered, vestiges of his I-was-just-a-straight-guy-fooling-around attitude clinging to him even today.

Buck chuckled a little; he'd expected as much, and the situation had been very different. When they'd been kids, well… they'd been kids, young, dumb and full of cum, and the bond they had forged back then had been different from the one Buck still suspected Vin had first built with Chanu. What would it have been like, he wondered, to have been really gay, all the way, wanting Chris and Chris alone, back then? He couldn't imagine it, but he could see a little of it in Vin's trust with these people, and a resignation he suspected the man didn't even know he displayed. Maybe they didn't recognize it either, but Buck had been exposed to all kinds of men with all kinds of wants when he was a kid, and he knew what he was seeing. Made him feel sorry for Tanner, a little…

"Buck?" Just the one word, and he didn't have to look to know Chris was worrying.

"Nothing," he said, shaking off the feeling. "Just hungry. So you've got to feed me and soon, understand?"

"Yeah. Now, you gonna finish telling me what's going on? Or are you gonna keep eavesdropping?" Chris grinned.

"I get a choice?"

"No."

The Reeves visited for another ten minutes or so. Voices raised briefly, sharply, but they didn't go on long enough for Buck to want to do more than peek in. They gathered up their things while he watched, somewhat abruptly to Buck's mind, even though Claire gave Vin a light kiss on the lips and Chanu gripped his free arm below the elbow while Vin returned the clasp. Buck grinned; they were both pissed, he could tell, in spite of the family touches. Vin seemed to bring out the best in people….

"Don't worry about the cabin. It will be ready for you when you get home," Chanu said.

"Thanks, Chanu. About a few more clothes for the trip…"

"We'll bring something from the house for you in the morning," Claire volunteered, her voice tighter than before.

"Thanks. Give the kids a kiss and a hug for me."

The request was agreed to and Chanu escorted his wife into the hallway, giving Buck a solemn once over before nodding to them both. He didn't look back and neither did Claire.

"Interesting couple," Buck said, to fill a quiet he wasn't entirely comfortable with.

"Suppose so," Chris agreed. "Reeves was here earlier today, but he and his wife came back a couple of hours before you showed up. Brought him jeans and work boots, shirt and jacket. That's when I cuffed him."

Buck looked on indulgently, liking Chris's paranoia in a way that he suspected was a little perverse. "They were here all that time?"

Chris nodded. "Just visiting with him."

"Good people," Buck mused, but Chris just shrugged off the introspection and turned to go back into Tanner's room. "Food," Buck reminded, taking a step to catch up and grabbing Chris's arm. "One of us can go out and bring something back."

Chris chewed on it for a moment. "Hey, Vin?" Buck noted and filed away the casual tone. Oh, he'd use it later when they were alone, maybe torment Chris unmercifully. But for now, he just puckered his lips and looked at the floor. "They let you have something other than hospital food?"

Vin looked surprised, and Buck just winked at him. "Suppose so," he said. "Silver Spur has good barbeque take out. Or Cowfish… they're both on Main Street."

"Give me the keys," Chris said and Buck fished them out.

"I could go," he offered. "I've had more sleep than you."

But Chris just rubbed at the back of his neck and replied, "No. I could stand to move around a little," so Buck passed them over. They took a minute to sort out what they wanted from the Silver Spur and Chris left.

"You're growing on him, you know," Buck grinned, but Vin didn't even pretend to look convinced.

"Yeah, I can tell."

"I'm serious-- he doesn't even offer to buy food for Ezra."

"Yeah, but does he lock Ezra up?" Vin shot back, rattling the handcuff against the bedrail.

"Trust me, he would if he could."

That earned Buck a small chuckle, and he settled into the chair by Vin's bed, trying to find a painless way to rest his arm on the bedside table. "He talk to you this afternoon?"

"You really are nosy."

Buck started to shrug, and winced. "Yep. And you're growing on him. If I was a betting man, I'd say you two had a nice heart to heart today."

"You'd lose." Vin yawned. "More like an interrogation."

"Same thing sometimes, with Chris," Buck admitted with a grin. He moved his arm again, almost dumping something onto the floor. There were three folded up pieces of paper, colorfully drawn, and Buck scooped them up.

"Hey, careful with those," Vin said quietly, and Buck propped up his arm then studied each page. Get well cards, hand drawn, by children. The most easily recognizable and the one with the best handwriting was on top but while Buck recognized "Vin," the rest of the words and the characters were odd and unknown.

"Peta?" he asked, sounding out what he guessed was the signature.

"O'he'peta," Vin said. "Their oldest girl. Yellow-haired daughter. My god-child."

"Nice." Buck glanced at the second, horses, barn and dog drawn by a less steady, younger hand, then the third colorful but entirely unrecognizable picture. It was just random marks of a crayon on paper. Somewhere, tucked among his things, Buck had a few pictures like this; drawings from Adam that he hadn’t been willing to let go of and probably never would. They were in a folder somewhere, in a box, out of sight and mostly forgotten. He carefully straightened a bent corner, smoothing the paper.

Vin tucked his free arm up under his head, watching Buck. "How's your arm?" he asked and Buck set the drawings aside.

"Hurts worse now that they've messed with it than it did before." He'd been a little distracted on that mountain, between the cold and the risks and the worrying how Chris was holding up, and he hadn't really given it much attention until the ER nurse had started cleaning it out. "Pain meds wore off an hour or two ago," he went on, "but don't tell Chris that or he'll try to feed me more of 'em. They tell you how long they want you to stay?"

"Longer'n you've got," he admitted. "I'll get out in the morning so we can get a move on. Long as I can go to the bathroom myself, I'm good," Vin said with a slight grimace and a shake of his head, "but you know," he lifted his arm, the hand cuff clinking against the metal side-rail, "it could be a little difficult right now. Larabee always been this suspicious or do I just bring out the best in him?"

Buck had to laugh at that. "A little of both I think. I think he's spooked," he said in a conspiratorial whisper. "The way folks around here talk about you, he's afraid you might turn into a wisp of smoke and drift away."

Vin only rolled his eyes. "Somehow, Chris doesn't strike me as being as gullible as the tourists around here. You either."

Chris, huh? Better and better. "We're not, but you are pretty slick, slick," he said and checked his pockets. "Chris has the key. You'll just have to relax until he gets back."

Vin did, a little, squirming until he could get comfortable. "So, when are you gonna find out what happens next?"

"I already know, " Buck said, a little surprised.

"Huh. Chris said you were tucked in bed asleep."

Buck would bet a hundred dollars Chris hadn't said exactly that, but he liked the image nonetheless. Still. "Nah. Got some work in today, and a little more before I came back--but don't tell him that, either."

Vin waited a beat, then frowned. "So what happens next?" he repeated.

"It'd take all the fun out of it if you knew, wouldn't it?" Buck teased, glad to see the irritated flash in the blue eyes. Say what you would, Tanner had plenty of fight in him. "There's a lot we don't know yet, Vin. But your friend Glenn's cleared the way for us pretty well from this end. Get you on a plane in the morning -- and Whitney," he said, before Vin could ask. "Think we might have to keep you boys separated. The folks in Atlanta would like Whitney to be able to talk when we get him there."

"And when we get there?"

Buck hesitated, not so much because he didn't think Vin should know what the current mostly unsatisfying plan was, but because it wasn't likely to be easy or pleasant for Tanner. "Right now, we turn you over to the police in Atlanta and they process you into jail. You stay there for a few days and in the meantime, we keep Whitney locked in a windowless room somewhere.

"Make sure it's little. And dark," Vin said tightly.

"Mean bastard, aren't you?"

Vin turned sober, angry eyes on him. "You got no idea, Buck. So don't cross me on this, all right?"

"Geez, Vin, be nice. We're buying you dinner here. And you asked," Buck huffed, more to distract him than anything else.

"Sorry. Go on."

"We keep Whitney. I'll even knock him around for you a little, if it'll make you feel better." Vin's grin was hawkish; damned if it wouldn't. Well. "State's attorney's office hasn't been notified because nobody knows who might be dirty there. US Attorneys that Travis knows are in touch, trying to work out how to use you and who can protect you while you're in jail. You have a problem staying in the infirmary for a few days while you're in lock up?"

Vin paled a little. "Can't say it'll be better or worse than anyplace else in jail. Okay."

"You should be okay inside," he said, foregoing details. "Then, when you get out, we drop Whitney in to the US Attorneys and they get what they can from him. You'll be next."

"I figured," Vin said softly, looking away from Buck and out the window. "You gonna get to cash in then?"

There was no reproach there and when Vin turned back to look at him, Buck couldn't find much in the way of resentment either. That bothered him a little. Granted, Vin had what he said he wanted: a chance to clear his name and Whitney in custody. And his life today wasn't in the kind of imminent danger it had been in yesterday. Still, that shouldn't be enough to make facing that murder charge seem all right, and that was what still waited for him after everything else died down.

"Worry about yourself," he argued instead.

Vin grinned. "That means 'yes.' Hell, good for you, Buck. Y'all ran your asses off, no reason for you not to get paid."

For bringing him in? The seeming generosity there, the baseline level of what made Vin Tanner content seemed at odds with the man Buck was coming to know a little better. "They think James is dirty -- really dirty."

"He'd have to be to be dealing with Whitney," Vin said, raking a hand through his hair. "The little shitstain… wish we were there already."

"Wish we didn't have to do it at all," Buck said without thinking and Vin stared at him for a moment before a slow smile covered his face and he started laughing.

"What?" Buck said mildly affronted, but amused too. He hadn't heard Vin laugh before, really laugh, in a way that made the fine lines at the corners of his eyes deepen and his shoulders shake, and his hand wrap gingerly over his injured side.

"Good, god, Buck Wilmington. How'd you ever survive in this business? And how many perps have you let walk over a good sob story?"

"Hey now!" Buck protested but he couldn't help but grin. "I can tell bullshit from fertilizer."

"After you step in it!" Vin accused, still laughing at him.

"Better then than never," Buck said confidently, "but in this case it ain't the great story--I've got a good feeling about you."

Vin shook his head and the laughter died off, but he was still grinning. "I couldn't make this shit up, Buck. But man…I see why you and Larabee are so good together… silk and steel wool."

"Well you've got me right, pard," Buck assured, "but Chris ain't that bad. This has just been… you've made it interesting."

"I've done nothing but run," Vin pointed out, sobering completely now. "It's everybody else wanted interesting. Old Eli Joe," he started, then frowned, "he's probably laughing his ass off even now."

"I can pretty much guarantee that isn't happening," Buck said, smiling again. "Chris had him since last night, remember? And your friends."

"Guess that's somethin'," Vin said.

"Yep." He eased off, giving Vin some space, asking about more innocuous things, like the ranch and the area, and the Reeves' children who Vin was more than happy to talk about, until Chris arrived with the food.

Chris released the handcuff without being asked and Vin got his trip to the bathroom; Buck tried to hover a little when Vin refused to call a nurse. But Tanner was as surly as a sleepy bear, and glowered, more defensive now that Chris was back. "Been pissing on my own for a few years now, Buck," he said flatly.

"Yeah, well, I don't want to drag you up off the floor when you take a nose dive, pal," Buck shot back lightly, and went to settle on the arm of the chair Chris had commandeered. The food smelled fantastic, and he grabbed up a sparerib, teasing Chris's mouth open with it, leaning quickly forward to suck off the spot of barbecue sauce from his full lower lip, flirting a little and watching the hazel eyes glint with suppressed emotion until he heard the toilet flush. Then he dug in while Vin wobbled back across the room.

"Stubborn jackass," he observed mildly.

"Anybody could've told you that," Vin said, carefully easing back onto the edge of the bed.

Chris snorted, and Buck smiled, glad to see the tension so much lower between them.

Vin went after his own share of the food with dedicated concentration, messy and loud about licking sauce from his fingers and using a dinner roll to sop it up from the bottom of the container. Chris looked a little surprised by the attack on the food, but Buck felt about as hungry as Vin looked and copied him, for the most part. "Shook off that anesthetic real good," Buck commented between bites.

"Hate the stuff," Vin muttered. "Breathe it out as quick as I can just as soon as I'm awake. I'm good."

Buck had never thought he wasn't, and was reassured by the appetite and the rising contentment in Vin's voice. The surgery must've done him some good, or else they had pumped him so full of narcotics that he didn't know any better. "Hey, Orrin ever find out if they dug out the evidence at Kincaid's place?"

Vin looked confused but Chris replied, "Oh. Yeah, he told me early on. Just forgot to tell you."

"The bullet," Vin said then, nodding.

"Yep. Don't reckon it'll tell us much, except that it's from your gun." Buck took another bite of potatoes. "Trajectory right, your blood spray… somebody'll have to notice you couldn't have shot yourself like that."

Vin sighed and leaned back from his near-empty food container, rubbing carefully across his belly. "Maybe that'll be enough."

It sure wouldn't hurt Vin's case. They had nothing to do now but wait now, and see if Ezra wanted to stand guard a spell, and make plane reservations. Money or not, it would be good to get home again.

Chapter 19

Buck's cell phone rang around eight and Chris grabbed it off the bedside table, looking at the number. "It's probably J.D. I'll take it," he offered, and Buck, who had stretched his long legs out to rest his feet comfortably on the edge of Vin's bed, barely nodded.

"Larabee," he said quietly.

"Where's Buck?"

"Right here, kid," he assured, laying a hand on Buck's good shoulder.

"Okay. Ezra's phone's turned off, and the line to the hotel room is busy. Yours is off too. Everything okay?"

Chris could hear the Tootsie-Pop J.D. sometimes traded for his cigarettes clicking around on his teeth. "Yeah. Guess Ez just wanted some sleep," he said, then frowned and pushed a little with his hand when Buck moved to stand. Relax, he mouthed. "What's up, kid?"

"Well, that marshal, Tom Glenn, was trying to find somebody at the hotel and he called here when he couldn't. I told him to call the hospital if he didn't hear from one of you in the next few minutes. How come he doesn't have Buck's cell number?"

Chris closed his eyes against a flash of everything that had happened, or could have happened, to Buck in the last twenty-four hours. "It didn't come up."

"Okay. Hey, I've got the plane reservations. I figured somebody'd want to know where you were flying in the morning."

"Thanks. Hang on." He grabbed a folded piece of paper off the table to write on, but Buck grabbed his wrist in a vise grip to stop him. When he tried to jerk away Buck grunted, which made Chris remember which hand he was using; he eased up instantly but glared at his lover. Buck just pointed at the paper Chris held until Chris looked down too. It had some kind of drawing on it, a child's effort, and Chris felt an old pain, deep in his gut, and dropped it back to the bed stand. Buck handed him a blank notepad, and Chris eased away when Buck finally let go of him. "Okay, go."

The next half-hour was spent on getting caught up and confirming plane reservations, trying to roust Ezra, and coordinating efforts with Tom Glenn to pick up Whitney in the morning. He had finally called the hotel manager and asked that she send someone to bang on Ezra's door and get his ass in gear, then phoned Glenn on his cell. Glenn offered-- almost insisted-- that he drive with them to Riverton and give them some official and uniformed oomph to moving prisoners through the small regional airport. Chris thought there was more to it than that but he didn't know what and didn't much care. Glenn's presence would make things easier, and at this point Chris wasn't above taking all the help he could get.

Ezra showed up awhile later, looking rested and relaxed, and Chris didn't peer too closely; if it was an act, that was good enough for him. "TV?" he grumbled instead.

Ezra raised his eyebrows. "Is this a word association game?" he asked, arch, and Chris wondered if Ezra was hedging or just refusing to be baited.

"You couldn't read a magazine and let him get a little more sleep?" he whinged.

Ezra looked disgusted, and took a big step back. "Please. That kind of behavior isn't even charming when fourteen-year-olds do it. You have no idea how much worse it looks on a man your age."

A sharp bark of laughter from Buck increased the strength of his glare.

"He's got you there, Chris," Buck said, still chuckling. "You're smothering, and you're old."

He didn't look toward the bed, because if Vin was laughing too, Chris would have to hurt somebody.

"No truer words spoken," Ezra observed. "Now what was so damned important that an old scarecrow of a woman in a cowboy hat had to bang on my door and wake me up?"

"Your turn at watch," Chris said, and pitched him the paper sack holding Tanner's clothes. "You be a good boy now, Ez, and maybe we'll get you a treat on the flight home." Purely for Buck's amusement he asided, "That's money in the bank," and was rewarded with more snickering.

They hung around for a while longer, until Vin started nodding off. It was apparent that he didn't want to fall asleep on them, and he needed the rest, so Chris gathered Buck up with his eyes and said, "Ezra, leave the cuffs off, all right?" Chris asked.

"Chris, you stay here and guard him all night, all right?" Ezra replied lazily, and yawned.

Chris glanced at Vin, who was awake enough to be smiling softly at that, not wide or broad, just the barest quirk of lips. Resisting the urge to throw up his hands, he settled for, "Don't kill each other," and walked out the door into the sterile, too-quiet hall.

The hotel room, when they got there, looked like heaven, even with two unmade beds and Ezra's towels scattered over the floor. They'd be up and moving at six a.m. to get Vin checked out by the doctors and released, then hook up with the marshals at nine to make their 11:00 flight to Denver. Even so, he and Buck had the room to themselves, and while they only had it for a few hours and at least some of that really was going to have to be dedicated to sleep, Buck was looking better, Chris wasn't scared out of his mind, and they had Ezra's bed for playing and the other for sleeping.

Not that much in the way of playing happened; he changed Buck's dressings and checked the wound, which still looked too angry and raw for Chris's overstretched nerves, and what started as a careful examination of Buck's body for bruises and scrapes and reassurance became a half-exhausted effort at sex which collapsed somewhere along the way into a laughing heap of relief. Disappointed that he couldn't despoil Ezra's bed, he nonetheless dragged them both up and into the other, where the sheets carried the scents he was used to, and not the expensive cologne Ezra wore.

Dawn still came too early and they ran late because Buck insisted on a shower while Chris packed up the room and washed up at the sink. The little restaurant was still closed, but a waitress was there already and let him in to buy coffees for the road that he took back to the room. Buck stood at the sink shaving, and Chris paused in the doorway just to take it in, watching the man doing something so familiar and mundane that maybe he'd never have seen again, if things had gone just a little differently. All because he'd wanted to satisfy Travis and maybe cash in big, play Lone Ranger out here… he shook off the dark mood and went to load the bags into the rental; Buck wouldn't thank him for winding himself up, and that's all it was.

He called Ezra only to discover the doctor hadn't been there yet. "Well track him down," Chris tried. "Use that doctor shit you fed them yesterday, obviously they swallowed it."

"Until you came onto the scene; you didn't make much of an impression."

Chris closed his eyes against rising sun. "I'm too tired, Ez," he said quietly.

"I'll see what I can do," Ezra replied, all traces of rancor gone. "Get yourselves some breakfast on the way over; I can't recommend what the hospital's serving."

"Yeah. Thanks. We'll stop on the way."

Chris would have laughed when he entered the hospital room, but it didn't do to encourage Ezra. He'd managed to wrangle a roll-away bed from the staff and his picked-over breakfast tray still sat beside the pillow. As hospital food went, it was probably the meal least likely to be ruined by dietary restrictions or poor preparation, not that Ezra had cleaned his plate.

Tanner wasn't in the bed, and the handcuffs dangled from the rail, but the remains of his own breakfast could be seen and Ezra looked cleaned and ready to face the trip, giving them a raised eyebrow as he sipped coffee and jerked his head to the bathroom. "The doctor was just here. He agreed Mr. Tanner could have a shower as long as he didn't get the wound site wet."

"He able to stay on his feet that long?" Buck asked.

"They brought in a shower chair and he agreed to use it," Ezra said and even as he spoke the water cut off. "Also there's no window," he said with a small, superior smile.

Chris rolled his eyes. He was never, ever going to hear the end of that one. "You had to cuff him anyway, didn't you?"

"No," Ezra said evenly. "I just left them hanging there and promised I'd lock both arms through the rail if he tried to stand up without telling me."

"Better'n it could have been," Buck asided, and Chris let it go.

It took Vin a few minutes more than it might normally take a man to dry off and emerge from the bathroom. He had on a hospital issue bathrobe instead of just a gown and while he moved slowly, he seemed to be steady enough, walking and drying his hair at the same time.

"Mornin', Vin. Feel better?" Buck asked.

"Wouldn't you?" Vin shot back, obviously not in a good mood. "Yeah," he moderated his tone and sat on the bed, pressing the button for the nurse. A duffel bag was there and he pulled it to him rather than twisting to reach it, digging out t-shirts and jeans and a clean flannel shirt.

The nurse chased them out, so Chris and Buck took their food to eat in the small waiting room off the nurses' station, while all three of them kept an eye on the door. When she emerged, Tanner was still there, dressed and looking a bit more wrung out than he had just ten minutes before.

"Reeves come by this morning?" he asked, thinking about the clothes.

"I can only assume; I didn't introduce myself. A Native American and a blonde woman, with the bag. They got into an argument about something, then both of them left."

"Leave it alone, Chris," Buck said, and Chris only frowned. No way was he touching that one.

They had to wait another half hour for the discharge papers to be signed and then called Glenn to say they were ready to move.

Chris took charge of Vin's duffel, letting Buck look after the man himself, since he was inclined to do it anyway. And it wasn't just because Tanner was a little wobbly after another dose of meds. Buck was already treating him like a friend and Chris wasn't entirely sure how he felt about that -- or how Buck would feel once they turned him over to the cops in Atlanta.

"Mind if we wait outside?" Tanner asked when they hit the hospital's main lobby. Ezra had put the handcuffs back on him, and only Buck had protested, enough that Tanner's hands were cuffed in front of him.

"Little chilly," Buck warned, and Ezra opted to stay inside the open lobby while Buck walked through the first of the automatic doors, stiffening slightly when the outer doors opened and the air from outside hit. It wasn't cold--the frosty air had warmed considerably since the sun had risen, but still, it was far cooler than inside. But Vin didn't even slow down, just headed for a low stone bench outside the entrance, settling down with his face turned toward the sun and his eyes toward the ever present mountains and wide open sky.

He'd like the farm, Chris thought idly, watching him. Watching Buck. They could see mountains from the back porch of their house, the foothills of the Appalachians rising from the back end of the property and upward toward Dahlonega and Brasstown Bald. The land was more densely forested than here and the air carried an ever-present scent of pine--maybe honeysuckle by now too, if the weather had held back home. Early blossomings of wild daffodils and day-lilies wouldn't add so much scent but the splash of color they provided had delighted Sarah every spring. The yard was full of them, some she'd planted, some wild or spread from her work the first year they'd been in the house. Now the yard and all along the drive was dense with them. The wild tangle of climbing roses had begun to bud; maybe they'd be about ready to bloom too. All in all, it was a whole new landscape compared to this one, rich and wet and green, not like this at all but still plenty pretty for a man who liked the outdoors.

And plenty messy. He and Buck mowed the grass out front, cut back brush and scraggly growth around the house and barn, and maintained most of the open land near the house. It was about time to call in a neighbor to bring the tractor in and mow the nearer pasture and corral, if the weather was good and the ground dry enough. Their nearest neighbors were the family Buck had befriended, and now their goats and four or five cows grazed in the lower fields, and Buck got the tractor work for free.

It was a lot of land to go to waste, he thought, all of it brought to mind by the Shoshone tribe's land covered in cattle and horses, with people working all the time, in and out through the seasons. He wondered what the ranch would look like in winter, covered in snow. The winters in Wyoming would be hard and harsh and why anyone would want to stay through one, was almost beyond Chris's understanding. Indiana's winters had been cold enough. Georgia could be cold and wet, but for no more than a few days or a couple of weeks at a time, winters short as the summers were long.

He was really ready to be home, where things were familiar. He rubbed at his eyes. Buck had been right -- they'd been on the hunt too long. Too many days, and this last little jaunt had sapped him of any reserves he might have had, and maybe for nothing, or worse than nothing. They might well lose the half-million that had seemed so enticing. They'd been shot at and jerked around, and they were halfway to turning over an innocent man to a system that while Chris knew was still better than some places in the world, was far from reliable, especially in a case like this.

Bounty hunting was a lot cleaner than their work on the force, though, far more cut and dried. The courts might say people were innocent until proven guilty, but on their end of this job, everybody was guilty until they could prove otherwise. Problem was, Tanner had made a damned good case for himself of proving otherwise, in Chris's eyes, and Buck--Buck already believed in Vin.

It rankled him, more than he wanted to admit, that Vin was innocent. The people they usually tracked had rap sheets longer than Chris's arm, while Tanner's record seemed stellar by comparison, and it pissed him off a little. He didn't tend to think of their team as being quite so mercenary, but he had to admit there was a grim joy in stealing money from the bastard who had tried to use them to frame an innocent man. That might be their only victory in this mess, and he wasn't even sure they'd get that, or why the hell the money had mattered so much to him last week.

Maybe it hadn't. Maybe it was just that he could still resent Buck trying to make him see reason about things, or take it easy, even after all these years. Stubborn jackass… he heard Buck's voice, calling Vin that last night, but he was plenty familiar with the appellation.

So maybe Chris didn't hold the title all on his own. The world could be an ugly, brutal place as Chris had real reason to know. Fairness was something the rest of the population -- starry eyed and oblivious to the darkness that lurked on their streets and in their neighbors -- could choose to ignore. Tanner hadn't chosen to ignore it and Chris didn't know if he was more idealistic or an adrenalin junkie or just made that way. He glanced over at him, sitting there in the sun, cuffs on his wrists and face lifted to the cool air. There was no shortage of loss in Tanner's life either, from what Buck had told him, but Chris didn't want to draw parallels, didn't want to look that close.

Buck caught his eye, brow furrowed at something he saw in Chris's face and Chris looked away, not sure what he was showing to his lover or if he wanted Buck to see it. Not that it mattered because Buck saw it anyway, or felt it, and he was up and moving toward Chris in that pause between one heart beat and the next, a casual arm slipping across Chris's shoulders. He didn't poke at Chris's doubts or concerns though.

"Vin was right, this is pretty country," he said instead and Chris grinned up at him, unable not to, for Buck was doing his best to turn his thoughts away from their dark path.

"Yeah. Wouldn't want to be here in winter, though."

"I don't know. Nice snug cabin, big fire, nothing to do but hole up for the winter and keep each other warm. I can think of worse things."

Chris bumped their hips together, looking at it in Buck's far more positive light. "I can't think of much better," he admitted. "But I thought you wanted sandy beaches and boat drinks."

Buck gave a dramatic sigh. "I could settle for that," he said, then stroked his mustache. "You think Travis is going to be able to pull this off?"

"I don't know. Depends on how fast the feds move on James. Guess we'll find out when we get there." He slid his hand to the small of Buck's back, beneath the jacket, as he recognized the dark Pontiac pulling in. "There's Glenn."

And behind him was the big pickup truck from the ranch. Tanner got up, staring into the back of the Marshal's car, face going hard at the sight of the passenger. But that expression eased a little when Chanu parked the truck. Not just Reeves and his wife, but an older Indian got out as well, white hair worn as long as Chanu's, so Chris whispered to Buck, "Think that's Kojay? Chanu's father?"

"Vin's too," Buck said, and Chris frowned as he studied the man. This guy was Indian blood through and through, with a white adopted son, white daughter-in-law… he was shorter than his blood son, but they were cast from the same mold. There was more expression on the aged face as he approached, the dark eyes taking in their little group in a way that made Chris want to stand up a little straighter. Orrin Travis had the same effect.

And Tanner looked a little surprised to see him, ducking his head as the old man stopped in front of him, but a grin tugged at the corner of his mouth at whatever was being said.

It was Claire who approached them and she looked puffy-eyed and pale, although her voice was steady. "Kojay's a medicine man as well as chief. He came to give Vin… all of you… a blessing for the trip."

"More like a blessing out," Buck said, watching the old man who had reached out to give Vin's shoulder a little shake.

"That too," Claire admitted, then dug into the pocket of her coat and held out a folded up piece of paper. "There's a fund…from the tribe. For Vin's defense, if he needs it," she said, her voice sounding brittle, hard. "I'd give it to Vin but they aren’t likely to let him keep anything. We’re asking you…I'm asking you, if it doesn't work out the way you say, you'll call us."

"We're gonna look after him, Ms. Reeves," Buck said. "He's gonna be fine. You'll see."

Chris wanted to step on Buck's foot to shut him up. Buck didn't know, none of them did, what the next days and weeks would bring for Tanner.

"Easy to say, Mr. Wilmington," she said, and Chris silently thanked her. "Once you've got your money, what's he to you? He's already hurt, and now he'll be in jail, in a town with no friends, no family. And he doesn't want us there."

Chris stared at her for that, wondering if that had been the subject of the raised voices the night before, or whatever had happened in front of Ezra this morning.

"Well, ma'am," Buck said, straightening up and pulling a step away from Chris. "I'd like to say he's becoming a friend." Buck frowned and looked Vin's way. "Maybe he'd say different," he added, pensive, and then Chris wanted to step on Vin's foot, for making Buck care enough that the man's opinion mattered.

"We're angling to present him as a witness mainly," Chris cut in, trying to reassure her too, not so much for Tanner's sake as for Buck's, who wouldn't want to leave a woman with tears in her eyes no matter who she was.

"Tom said as much," she said tightly, like she didn't believe any of them, and Chris thought she had good reason to be skeptical. He could figure that anybody close to her would want her comforted, and as Buck said, men tended to get stupid, and think a woman would get stupid too when she was upset. "But no one's discussing the murder charge." She looked between them and then held out the paper to Buck. "Will you promise?" she asked, almost demanded.

Buck took the paper and then took out his wallet to tuck it inside the fold. "We promise," he said, and Chris reluctantly nodded his agreement. It was just a phone call. Any fool could keep a promise to make a phone call, though he knew already that Buck felt… involved. And if he was, then so was Chris, like it or not.

Half a million really wasn't enough.

Buck's sincere tone seemed to have some weight because the awful tension left her face.

"Thank you," she said and then her eyes filled with tears again and Buck moved, reaching out to her as instinctively as a parent to a child.

"We'll do what we can. Everything we can," Buck affirmed, then pulled out a business card before sliding his wallet back into his jacket. "Call me anytime you need, okay?"

She took it and nodded. She'd hold them to their word and he could almost hear Sarah in his head: Don't make promises you can't keep.

They hadn't talked about this, but Buck wouldn't give way. Anything that started out as a discussion would have ended in an argument, and the result would have been the same; Buck had made the decision for them, and Chris's only job was to accept that and keep his mouth shut. Lord knew, Buck had to do that often enough.

Claire nodded and wiped at her eyes then pulled back to return to her family, waiting until Kojay was done before wrapping her arms carefully around Vin's ribs to hug him. It looked like he had some experience with handcuffs, because he knew enough to raise his arms high and drop them over her, awkwardly returning the hug as he tucked his face and chin into her neck and hair.

"Where's your skip?" Glenn asked, pulling their attention back to the job at hand.

Ezra had stayed notably absent from the whole thing, but he came out now, still limping a little, catching Glenn's question. "I've taken care of his delivery, and I should get moving," he said, and Glenn gave him a startled look. Ezra ignored everyone equally.

"Feeling homesick, Ez?" Buck asked.

"Yes," Ezra snapped back. "In just a few hours now, I'll be in my own home, my own bed. I will have showered, eaten food that isn't either tasteless or packaged in Styrofoam, and made a few phone calls to check on in-home nurses. I'll have begun to try and make this into a very bad dream, and I'd like the process to begin as quickly as possible. Also," he said. "There is a Starbuck's in the Denver airport. Civilization calls, gentlemen. Marshal?" Ezra directed, and limped off toward the car.

"He always like this?" Glenn asked, looking pained.

"Pretty much, yeah," Chris admitted. "After awhile, you get used to it," he added, a little worried at how true that was.

"Well let's get you people out of my district before that happens," he said dubiously. "Cody," he called quietly, and both men headed off for their car. 

Ezra had gone to the truck, and Chris was startled to see him manhandle a handcuffed Whitney out of it, turning to keep himself between Whitney and the marshals. He marched him over to where Vin and the Natives were standing after tugging the hood on Whitney's jacket up over his head. It was a transparent sham, but the marshals kept their distance and Chris was just glad they were playing along. The longer they kept Whitney out of public documents, the greater their chances of collecting the reward on Vin. He wondered how Ezra had gotten that point across without alienating the law. 

Chris moved with Buck to collect Vin. Handcuffed like Vin was, Whitney couldn't do much but he had an awful grin on his face and lifted his hands, making a cutting motion across his throat. Vin flipped him off and turned away, but Buck took two long strides before Chris snagged the back of his jacket.

"Hey now, settle down."

"You're just gonna let him get away with that?"

"Regular momma bear, ain't you, Buck?" Vin grinned, but Buck wasn't so easily mollified, and Chris thought he understood why.

"You can play with him when we get home, all right?" he promised, making Vin snicker and Buck frown. Then, more quietly he added, "He's not gonna get close enough to Vin to do shit. I thought we'd let Ezra take him down to the office and lock him in the bathroom, soon as we get home. Somebody'll be there all the time, and if you want to do your turn playing guard, I'm not gonna interfere. Sound good to you?"

"Sounds perfect," Buck muttered, but it took Vin's "let's get moving" to send them toward their car.

The Reeves stood to the side, Claire between her husband and father in law, their good-byes already said. Three more impassive faces, Chris couldn't hope to find outside of a painting. Vin didn't look back at any of them and let Buck help him into the back seat where Ezra had taken up position in the middle and Whitney was handcuffed tightly to the other door.

If there was fight left in him, Chris didn't see it, and that worried him a little, as did the niggling thought that if Stuart James had influence and connections and motivation enough to send hired killers after Tanner, he might have influence enough to find men inside the Atlanta jail to finish what he'd started. Suddenly their promise to Claire seemed less like vague reassurance to a distraught woman, and more like a responsibility Chris wasn't sure they could fulfill.

He slid in behind the wheel and exchanged a look with Buck that did nothing to reassure him.

"Gonna work out fine, Vin," Buck said with false heartiness.

"Let it be, Buck," Vin said tiredly from the back, and Chris checked the rearview to find Vin's head already tilted against the seat rest, eyes closed, and thought the same thing.

What they would do, what they could do, might amount to nothing in the end and that left Chris with a sinking sick feeling in his stomach that he hadn't felt in years. Buck looked the same, felt the same, worried and disillusioned, and Chris couldn't stand to leave it like that. "We'll figure something out," he said and started the car.

Buck's hand found its way to his thigh to give it a light squeeze, in thanks or in agreement and Chris grabbed it up, finding his own resolve firming up a bit. He'd never lied to Buck. He wasn't about to start now.

If there was a way, they'd find it.

In the meantime, he had a pretty uncomplicated life he wanted to get back to, and a piece of him was looking forward to it. 

It was raining in Atlanta. The flight attendant announced it as most of the passengers filed in, while Ezra was probably on his second drink up there in business class with Vin--Vin, because he was injured, Ezra because they were getting the reward plus expenses, and somebody had to stay with Vin, and no class of service in the world would be worth shoving Ezra in coach then having to hear about it later. Buck had tucked Whitney into the window seat and took the one in the middle, leaving the aisle for Chris. He ignored the stares, mostly from old men and kids, at Whitney's handcuffs, which the guy seemed determined to display to anybody who would glance their way. 

Whitney wasn't a big man, but Buck made the small seats seem even smaller by letting his arms take up both arm rests and leaning in, crowding Whitney into the bulkhead a little. Or a lot. Chris hid his grin when Buck started needling the man. He'd been good at it when he was a cop, at playing nice and sweet and coming across so nice that he made perps suspicious, or appearing to be a little unhinged. Buck Wilmington was the gentlest man on earth but that didn't stop him from knowing that intimidation didn't require raised voices or threats. 

Whitney, for his part, had already decided he was safe at least for the moment, and was doing his best to ignore Buck's efforts as the plane left the tarmac. It was obvious that he'd failed when nerves or whatever made him start in with the bullshit talk. "You're lucky you didn't have to have to tie Tanner up to get him onto this plane," Whitney said, taking a cruel glee in both Vin's condition and his reaction; it hadn't been pretty, getting off that little Brazilia and through the crowded Denver airport, and Whitney had identified Buck's soft spot for Vin with no trouble at all. Ezra had ordered a wheelchair, and Buck had been left to talk Vin into it, leaving Chris painfully aware that Vin Tanner might be willing to bleed to death before he'd ask for help. "Never had to shove him out of plane on a drop, that's for sure," Whitney sneered. "Little fag's practically afraid of the dark."

"Buck!" Chris didn't have to wait for movement, he knew exactly what his partner was about to do. "Save it," he grated. "I'm not in a mood to play kindergarten teacher today, you understand me?"

"Yeah, sure Chris," Buck replied casually, "I understand you." Then he lifted his elbow and jammed it into Whitney's ribs anyway, hard enough that the guy groaned and half-doubled over. 

"What the fuck--"

"Watch your mouth, pal," Buck ordered, still friendly-sounding. "There's decent people around here."

Whitney's voice began to rise as he started in with, "I'll say any goddamned thing I want to say, you fucking prick--"

Chris didn't even try to stop Buck this time, just leaned forward a little to screen his partner's mayhem from the rest of the passengers, and smiled weakly at a fascinated little kid across the aisle. He didn't need to watch, as he knew it wouldn't be bad and that any blow or whispered threat was designed with a single purpose in mind that had less to do with hurting the guy than with getting him to shut up and stop bothering everybody. 

A moment later, louder and still relaxed-sounding, Buck said, "I think we've got everything squared away, don't you, Eli?" The Eee-Lie, stretched out, was punctuated by another tiny grunt, and when Chris settled back down Whitney was staring out the airplane window. If he stayed that way for the next four hours, that'd be perfect. 

All in all, the flight was smoother than expected, even though Whitney was far from perfect; every time he started up, Buck shut him down again, and the even rhythm of that cycle coupled with the drone of the jet engines lulled Chris, enough that he kept dozing off. Bits of the past week kept interrupting his sleep. The flight attendant's announcement that they'd be landing in Atlanta in twenty minutes jerked him awake and he glanced around, surprised. Buck, still taking up a chunk of Whitney's personal space, smiled at him. "Feel better?"

"Yeah, sorry," he muttered, swiping at his face. "How about you?"

"I'm good," Buck replied. And he did look good, perky and a little flushed, and Chris wondered how he'd kept himself occupied. "Nobody needed to piss except Eee-Lie here, and I didn't really care about that." 

Chris could imagine. "Ezra come back?"

Buck's mustache straightened even further. "You're kidding, right? Come to coach when he doesn't have to?" 

Damn, he was still asleep. But by the time they'd landed and taxied to the gate, he had his wits about him and leaned back, waiting for all of the other passengers to exit as he flipped on his phone. Josiah waited for them at the top of the jet way, had arranged to escort Whitney back to whatever hole they were going to stuff him into. After everyone had left, Buck stood to stretch and Chris grabbed Whitney, turning him and pressing him against a seat to recuff his hands behind him. He was taking no chances. 

Ezra was still sitting, and Vin looked to be asleep. Chris raised his eyebrows.

"The pain pills," Ezra said quietly. "I gave him another about an hour ago."

"He do okay?" Buck asked, sounding surprised. 

"Wake up you shit!" Whitney yelled, and Chris flinched when Vin did, considering a little mayhem of his own. "Get him out of here, Buck," Chris ordered, handing him off, and Buck just grinned a little crazily and grabbed Whitney's handcuffed wrists in one hand, his jacket collar in the other. 

"Let's go, Eee-Lie." 

Chris watched them head for the door and took in the flight attendant who clearly wanted to get on with her day. "You ready? " he asked Vin, who now that he was awake was already trying to stand. The cuffs were off, and Chris stopped Ezra's hand in the process of reaching for them. "If we can't keep a hold of a guy less than two days out of abdominal surgery, we don't deserve the money," he said quietly. 

"Bite your tongue, Chris," Ezra retorted, frowning, but he subsided and dropped the handcuffs into the outside pocket of his computer bag. He was limping badly as he made his way into the aisle, and Chris wondered how his feet were holding up even as he reached to steady Vin. 

"You all right?"

"Just dizzy," Vin said, low. "Hate that shit."

"Why'd you take it?" he asked, and Vin grinned faintly.

"Hate being busted and flying and Eli Joe and jail more." 

Chris couldn't help but grin back. "Fair enough. Run and I'll get Josiah to shoot you."

"If I could run right now I'd be a miracle of medical science." His hand dropped to his injured side even as he said the words, and Chris realized he really must be hurting. 

"I can get you a wheelchair."

"Huh uh," Vin said, reaching to steady himself on the airplane seat. "Reckon I'll be caged up soon enough, might as well get one good walk in while I can." 

Chris didn't know if that was the truth, or if Vin just refused to let Whitney see him in such a vulnerable position again; it had rankled them all when Whitney had acted like such a jackass. "All right." 

It was a slow walk out of the plane and up the jet way, and when they reached the terminal, Josiah and JD were flanking Whitney, and Ezra was already gone. 

"His car was in long-term parking," Josiah supplied. "He took off home."

"Can't say I blame him," Buck muttered, giving Whitney an evil look. "The company sucks."

"Bite me, Wilmington," Whitney muttered, and Chris just sighed. He was too tired for this, and too old. 

"Can we get this circus on the road?"

They all rode back to the office together so Chris and Buck could pick up the Camero and get Vin on down the road. In Josiah's van, Chris was all too happy to shackle Whitney to the back bench, and he settled in next to Vin and JD in the main bench seat while Buck took shotgun. At the office, they went inside long enough to check the security on Whitney; JD had moved the LAN out of the bathroom and stacked it at the end of his desk, then secured a length of tow chain around the sink pipe and the toilet, the idea being that one handcuff would go around the chain and give the asshole three or four feet in which to move.

Chris smiled. "That do for him?" he asked of Vin and Buck particularly; Vin had the highest stake in seeing Whitney suffer, and Buck was just pissed at the guy. 

"Hell yeah," Buck said heartily. "Now come on, I'm hungry and I want to get some dinner and then get Vin settled in."

Settled in. Imprisoned. It wasn't lost on Chris, how much care Buck was taking not to use words like "jail" and "cell" and "incarcerated." It wasn't lost on him that no magical solution had revealed itself as yet. And it was definitely clear that they were about to turn Vin Tanner into an overcrowded jail in the heart of the city. "Let's go to the Varsity."

"Yeah, I could use some good chili cheese fries," Buck agreed, heartily enough that Chris knew he'd been busted; the Varsity was the oldest car hop in town, and its huge outside deck might be the last time Vin saw the sky for awhile. 

"I'm not hungry," Vin tossed in, and Chris stood back to let Buck handle the matter. A few "I am's" and "you will be when you smell the burgers" and "what's your hurry's" got Vin reluctantly agreeing, while Chris fished his keys out of their desk and jangled them. 

"Josiah, I want somebody on Whitney at all times. Keep him watered, keep him quiet, and keep a gun on you." 

"Not a problem, Chris. I thought I'd settle in this evening myself, and read a good book." He waved vaguely toward a collection on global religions that he'd been working through, and Chris nodded approval. 

"Call if you need us. After we get finished tonight, I think we're gonna sleep for a couple of days."

"All right. Pleasant dreams," Josiah said, without even a flicker of sarcasm. 

Buck crowded into the back seat, folding his long legs up on the bench. "Be easier on you, Vin, to get in and out of the front."

"Be easier if y'all had a decent car," Vin grumbled, and Buck just chuckled. 

"Told you, except for me Chris has got no taste."

Chris held his tongue, because Vin hadn't complained on the drive to Kansas, and he hadn't complained about coffee or handcuffs or showers or food. He hadn't complained about losing his house to a fire or spending a night on a mountain or getting captured and brought in on a murder charge. If he was complaining now, he was in bad shape. 

And there wasn't a damned thing Chris could do about it.

The Varsity was the biggest drive-in in the United States, and less than ten minutes from down town and Fulton County jail. Chris figured two of their chili dogs could go a long way in making a guy happy he was about to check into an infirmary, and tried the joke as they approached North Avenue. 

"Shit, Chris," Buck chided from the back, "give him a break."

But Vin was halfway grinning, so maybe they had something in common. The car hop section was emptier than usual, but then the rain had only let up just as their plane landed, and puddles still dotted the parking lot. "Order for me," he said as he dropped them off at the door, then went to park the car. 

He didn't have to say "seat him outside," or "take care of him," or any of the other crap he thought about saying. He just watched Vin lever himself out of the front, and ruffled Buck's hair as he pushed the seat up and climbed out, spider-like. "Be right in."

It took a minute to find them, looking for Buck's gesticulating that he could pretty much count on; his partner was exhausted, and trying too hard, and Chris knew all the signs. He slid into his seat, wondering about the noise level, but Vin looked all right--and he'd ordered two chili dogs, which for some reason cracked Chris up. His own chili cheeseburger and onion rings stacked up nicely, and Buck had already dug into his barbecue plate... and started eating his onion rings, Chris noted with a sigh.

"Buy your own."

"Don't want that many. Here, you can have some of my--"

"I don't want your damned fries, Buck!"

Laughter, just like he'd heard that one time in the hospital, rang out loud enough to cut through the nearby din, and Chris looked up, startled. "Jesus, you should see yourselves!" Vin choked out. 

"What?" But Vin couldn't get any words out for a moment, and Chris wasn't sure the tears in his eyes weren't from pain instead of laughter. "Vin?" he asked, sharing a confused look with Buck. 

When Vin did settle down, he just shook his head, hair falling a little into his face until he pushed it away and stuffed in a chunk of his chili dog. "'Es 're good," he mumbled around a mouthful. 

"You gonna tell us what's so funny?" Buck asked after a second. 

"Nothin'." Another bite. "You two. You're like..." he paused to swallow and take a long draught off his milkshake, then waved his hand in the air. "I don't know."

Chris shared another look with Buck, who no more understood it than he did. Well, that cleared that up. They settled down and dug in after that, and Buck stopped trying so hard to entertain as Vin withdrew more and more into himself. As soon as Buck, the last of them to finish, dropped his fork, Vin began to push himself up. "Let's get this over with."

"Vin..." Chris ran his knuckle along the outside of Buck's thigh, not sure if he was asking Buck to stop, or keep talking. But it didn't look like Buck could think of anything else to say. "Yeah. Let's go then."

Booking was a nightmare, not because the men and women at the desk were unprofessional--and Chris had worried that they might be, what with Vin's escape from a patrol car--but because Vin was going pasty and pale, and nobody was doing anything about it. They emptied his pockets, asked for his clothes... Buck helped him to the cubicle, then helped him pull off his shoes and slid his jeans carefully over the bandaging, while Chris looked on and fumed. He didn't want Buck worrying this much, being this kind, when Tanner could maybe be dead by this time tomorrow. 

He didn't want that either, and the reek of corruption that had grown around this murder clogged his nostrils almost as much as the smoke from that fire. Chris stepped a few feet away from them and made his phone call, to tell Orrin that Vin was in, to ask him to process the check, to confirm that people had been spoken to, and that someone inside was going to be watching out for Vin. He was ready to make his own calls, maybe check in with some friends from his old precinct and call in some favors, but Orrin assured him things were taken care of, that Vin was going into the infirmary and that a local district attorney wanted to question him tomorrow or the next day. Chris was to tell Vin to keep his mouth shut until he'd talked to the US Attorney, and no one knew when that would be. 

By the time he turned back, Vin was wearing orange prison scrubs and plastic sandals, a booking clerk was generating an inventory of his possessions, and a guard had a hand on his arm. "Come on, we'll get you to the infirmary," the guard--Watson, his tag read--said, and he sounded decent enough. 

"Buck." Vin nodded once, sober, and held out his hand. Buck shook it, gripping firmly, then took a step away. 

"Chris." When Chris stepped forward, his hand seemed naturally to slip past Vin's, and he found himself clasping Vin's forearm much like he'd seen Chanu Reeves do. Vin looked startled at first, then he smiled a little. "See y'all around," he said, like he didn't quite believe it.

"Count on it."

Three minutes later they were in the car and Chris was driving like a bat out of hell for home, and the farm, and a chance to wash this whole damned case off himself. Buck's "Slow down" had no effect, and after a moment Buck slouched down and leaned his head back. "Fine."

That was the sum total of their conversation as they drove home, unpacked the car, and dropped their bags in the hall. They didn't even shower together, which might have surprised Chris if he'd stopped to think about it, but he was too tired, too wrung out, and if he was willing to tell the truth, glad for the break from his partner. Buck had slipped off to the big shower off the other bedroom, he could tell from the slight drop in water pressure, and he hurried through his nighttime routine even though it was barely nine p.m. He was in bed before Buck returned, almost asleep until he felt the mattress roll and dip, and Buck slide up against him. Habit more than need drove him to shift a little, to drop his arm over Buck's back, and then everything went dark. 

\--End Part 1—

Continued in "Waiting Games"

The Magnificent Seven and it characters @ MGM, the Trilogy Entertainment Group, the Mirisch Corporation and TNN, and was developed by John Watson and others.


	5. Skip Trace - Waiting Games: Chapter 5

SKIP TRACE: WAITING GAMES  
By Charlotte C. Hill and Maygra 

Universe: Skip Trace 

Acknowledgements: Many thanks to Megan for morale and editorial support, as well as a few scenes .

Pairing/Characters: C/B, Vin, Ezra, cameos by the Nathan, Josiah & JD

Rating: NC17 (We mean, seriously...look who's writing this thing!)

Story Notes: What would have been a "duology" (or whatever a two-book series is) was first far too long, and second, couldn't adequately credit maygra for contributions she made to the parts of the epic post-"The Big Score". So I picked a somewhat arbitrary place to divide it, at a point in real life not long after we lost Maygra to a dark forc--I mean, another fandom. I hope I've covered all of her contributions save one, and that I have also helped her avoid having to take the blame for anything that follows.

Feedback: yes, please, any kind, on or off list to charlottechill@yahoo.com and maygra@gmail.com. 

Wednesday, May 16  
It was just getting light when Buck woke up, Chris plastered to his side the way he did when he was cold, or too tired, or horny or moody. Didn't take a genius to figure out which this morning. He cuddled Chris closer for comfort, hoping to drop back off to sleep. But sleep wouldn't come and his mood drove him up and out, still feeling exhausted. It took a second to locate clean jeans, to stand in the hall and stare at Chris's suitcase, and the plastic bag he'd gotten from the hospital to use instead of the bag Chris had given him that had gone up in smoke when Vin's little cabin had burned. He decided that laundry wasn't on his agenda any time soon. 

They'd likely just earned a half a million dollars. 

They'd also just jailed and condemned an innocent man, an innocent man Buck liked. 

He needed to get the hell out of this business, find something clean to do. Something good. His legs carried him out onto the back porch, and some time later, the deck, where he just stood in silence, bare feet soaked up the chill from the dew on the boards, looking out at the expanse of land. He shivered a little. This place was beautiful, and wasted, and he wondered if he and Chris weren't, too. 

Talk about depressed. He went back to the kitchen to retrieve the cordless phone and called his mother, forgetting until she answered that it wasn't even 5 a.m. in Idaho. "Sorry, ma. Just me. Forgot the time change, I'll call you later."

"I'm up now, honey." She yawned. "How's Chris?"

Buck let out a long breath, wondering, but said only, "Good. We're good," saving the parts about fire and fear and potential cash for some other time. "I was just up early, and thinking of you, and wanted to know how you're doing." He didn't know if she believed him, but her voice lifted his spirits in a way few other things could. So he listened to a story about skiing, and the last snows of winter, and felt her soothing touch like she was close enough to reach out and stroke his hair. Mothers just had a gift. "Sounds great. Chris 'n me might get out there, when it gets too hot here this summer."

"You know Frank and I would love to have you two."

"Yeah... listen, I'll let you go back to bed." He rang off after the usual 'love you's, love to Chris, love to Frank,' and while his heart was still heavy, he felt a little more hopeful than he had before. 

He stood there watching shadows shorten as the sun rose, turning things over in his mind.

They'd won, most would say; they'd brought in Tanner, a bounty hunter at the top of his own game and damned good—damned good. Somewhere, financial wheels were turning, getting ready to cough out a check for half a million dollars. They'd nabbed five other people, all shooters, all crooked, probably all worth something in the dollar value arena. 

Vin was a good man who was about to get chewed up by the system. Buck wondered what Chris would think of ponying up some of the reward money to supplement Vin's legal defense, if need be—assuming he wasn't killed in jail, a far more likely possibility if James was as dirty as everyone was beginning to think. 

He heard clanking in the kitchen, but didn't go in. Chris would find him if he wanted to, and if he didn't, well, Buck could use a little room until he figured out how to put this behind him. But it seemed Chris wanted company, because the kitchen door opened and closed, then the porch screen creaked. "Got you coffee," Chris said, holding out a mug. 

Buck glanced over his shoulder and nodded welcome. "Thanks." The coffee came with a soft, meditative kind of kiss, and Buck took some comfort in it. Shitty things happened to people all the time, everywhere, and they still got through it.

Chris leaned on the porch rail beside him, pressing their shoulders together. After a minute of just listening to the morning, birds and insects and cars on the distant road and Chris's breathing, Buck said what was on his mind. "Do you feel as shitty as I do?" 

Chris took a long gulp of his coffee and tilted his head to look at him. "Yeah." 

More minutes passed, and Buck's cup was empty when he announced, "Visiting hours at Fulton are noon to three," wanting Chris to want to go too, but willing to go there alone if necessary. And Chris, like he always had, like Buck trusted he always would, rose to the challenge. 

"Let's get into the office and see what we can do before then."

After showers, an obsessive-compulsive changing of his bandage by Chris, and shaves, he grabbed Chris's jacket collar to steer him toward the Mustang, which hadn't been driven in far too long. "Come on, I'll show you how a real ride's supposed to feel."

"You know," Chris said, deadpan, "one of these days we're gonna have to buy a normal car again, and not one of these things the high school kids whistle at."

Buck thought about it, and smacked Chris's ass before he headed to the driver's side of his beloved old muscle car. "Not today." 

Nathan and JD were already in by the time Chris and Buck arrived at the office. Josiah looked as inscrutable as a Buddha when they asked how Whitney was doing. "We had a nice quiet night," Josiah said. "Didn't we, Mr. Whitney?"

Whitney looked purely miserable sitting on the john in the bathroom, when Buck checked. There was a bowl there that looked like it had held instant oatmeal, and an empty coffee cup. A day's growth of beard and the lack of a shower hadn't improved his looks any, but he was a whole lot less mouthy. "How long you gonna keep me here? I thought I made a deal," he said, sounding whiny and maybe, Buck hoped, a little scared. 

"You did," Chris said over Buck's shoulder. "So did we. When our deal comes through, you'll get your shot."

"What if your deal..." Whitney started then shut up and Buck's eyes narrowed.

"What if our deal what?" he said. "You got something to say, Eee-Lie? Know something you're not sharing with your friends here?"

"I don't know nothing," Eli Joe snarled. "And where the hell is my due process?"

"Not our jobs," Chris said. "We could turn you in in Oklahoma tomorrow or next week, you'd get plenty of due process there. Unless you've got something more recent we should know about that we can cash in on." 

Buck leaned against the doorway and let Chris have his go. Neither of them expected Whitney to up and admit he'd killed Kincaid, not to them, probably not to the DA or the US attorneys unless he had a rock-solid deal. But it would make the whole thing a lot simpler and right now, Buck wanted simple in the worst way. 

"I got nothing to say to you," Whitney said sullenly. Some of the spit and fire had gone out of him and Buck figured that it was the miserable conditions—the light switch was on the outside of the door and Buck made a pretty good guess that Josiah had traded manners for light in there. 

Chris stared at the man a moment longer, expression so impassive that even Buck had a hard time reading what was going on in his brain, but there was something churning in Chris's mind and when he had a better handle on it he'd let Buck know. 

"We heard from Ezra yet?" Buck asked of the room in general.

"It's 10 o'clock," Nathan said with a raised eyebrow—which was, when you knew Ezra, an answer. 

Buck grinned at that then peeled away from the bathroom door to call him. Chances were he was up, even if he wasn't out and about yet. It was also likely that if his feet were still bothering him, he'd call his own doctor but Buck didn't mind giving him a nudge. It would both annoy Ezra and, in some carefully hidden part of his soul, reassure him that he wasn't just an employee, something Buck had been working on for nearly two years. Not that he expected the man to spontaneously invite anyone out for a beer, but there were friends and then there were friends, and Buck would have no compunction whatsoever in calling Ezra to help him out of a jam. Besides, he had to give the guy shit for stealing Vin's pain meds. They'd been noticeably absent when Vin had been checked in at the jail. 

Chris was ignoring Whitney now too, turning his attention to Nathan and what had gone on or slipped while they'd been on the road these last few weeks. Josiah had a great talent for management, keeping everyone moving without ever letting on that he was leading, really, and Buck had ever been grateful for it. 

It was Ezra's answering machine Buck got but he left a message anyway, half suspecting Ezra was screening. 

What he couldn't figure out was why Whitney, a known arsonist, hadn't set Kincaid's house on fire. That would have solved everything—Vin and Kincaid would have been toast, any evidence would likely have been destroyed, Vin would have been charged posthumously and the whole mess would have disappeared. 

The phone rang, and since Chris was on the other line and no one else seemed to be inclined, Buck picked it up. "W&L."

"Is there some reason you had to call me at such an ungodly hour of the morning?"

Buck grinned. "It's ten o'clock, Ez."

"My point exactly. And I'm going to have to return to that backwater today, stay overnight again and bring back four low-life would-be assassins, so why are you bothering me?" he asked testily. 

"Just checking in on you," Buck said, meaning it. "Wanted to make sure your feet are okay, and tell you if you're not up to the trip we can send Josiah, or Chris could go."

A short paused followed. "Chris is in no condition to travel. You certainly aren't. And if we sent Josiah, then I'd have to baby sit Whitney, and I assure you I'd rather do almost anything than that. JD and I will be fine."

"Okay. You want the scoop on our plans?"

"No," Ezra answered flatly, "because I'm sure it's going to put our profits at risk. Just... don't lose my share of the money. Not if it isn't absolutely necessary."

Buck chuckled a little. "You like him, don't you?"

Ezra hrumphed—not a sound that any of the other guys could actually pull off. "More than the cash? Don't flatter anyone with that thought, Buck."

But Buck knew better. "Don't worry, Ez. If Orrin can pull it off, you'll get your bonus. And you should drop off Vin's painkillers," he said innocently. "You must've kept 'em by accident yesterday."

"Accident, my foot. He couldn't take them into jail anyway, and no one gave me so much as a sleeping pill."

Buck wasn't sure Ezra would even use the drugs, and doubted he was in much pain as long as he kept his feet up, but he'd probably thought he deserved them or something. "Just bring back what you don't need, okay?" 

After a brief pause, Ezra gave in. "Yes. When I get back. Tell JD to pick me up at noon, all right?"

"Yeah, sure. You know," he lied, "the kid's already excited about the road trip." 

That earned him a glare from JD and a hiss from Ezra. "Don't remind me. Just... I'm hanging up now."

"All right. Ezra?"

"Yes?"

"Thanks. You're a lifesaver."

"I keep telling you all that," he replied, but Buck could hear the pleasure in his friend's tone. 

He rang off even as information kept swimming around in his mind. "We got a copy of the police report on the Kincaid murder?" he asked the room at large. 

Chris looked up from their desk. "We've got what Orrin sent us last week."

"Anything more recent? I want crime scene data." 

Chris spun a little in the chair and leaned back, eyeing him. "What's on your mind?"

"Not sure yet," Buck admitted, then went to hover over Chris. "What about you, got any ideas?" he asked, nudging Chris's leg with his own. 

"No. Just talked to Orrin though, and it looks like the money's getting processed okay." 

"Good." They might need it. 

Chris grinned. "Ezra tell you he submitted all the expense reports to Orrin's office by fax, from his place, last night, including the first class tickets home?"

Buck chuckled. "Nope."

"Well he did, and I told Orrin about the clean-up costs back there. He thinks he can get expenses reimbursed by the feds, especially if Charlene Cruz can convince any of the shooters to give up their boss." 

"That's real good," Buck said, meaning it, but a piece of his brain still niggled at him about that crime scene. "You want to see if you can scare up a current investigation file from Orrin? Or should I call some old friends?"

Chris appeared to think about it before he said, "Call in a favor from somebody. Let's not get Orrin pointed in any more directions than he already is until we know something."

"You got it, stud." He leaned over Chris to get to their phone, copping a covert feel and chuckling when Chris smacked him in the belly to chase him off. 

As it stood, they had an hour and a half to kill before they took off for the jail, and he couldn't get a current copy of the investigators' report without driving out to Roswell and picking it up, so he spent most of his time reading what they had, and a little of it tormenting Whitney so he'd have a good story to tell Vin.

Shortly before noon, Chris pulled Nathan aside. If Orrin gave them the call, they wanted Whitney moved quickly, out of their hair and into the hands of someone who actually might find him useful. 

He and Chris walked instead of trying to find a parking space in the county lot—near impossible on a weekday and Wednesday, with grand juries in session at the federal building across the street, seemed especially bad. Security was tight at the jail but they made it through without a hitch and then Buck stepped up to the desk to drop some names and get them through without an appointment.

"I hate this place," Chris said a couple of minutes after one of the guards let them into the waiting area, his fingers drumming on the plastic tabletop.

"Yeah, I know," Buck said, placating; this wasn't the kind of inconvenience he took seriously. The problem was, Chris recognized his attitude and got irritated all over again. 

"You're saying you like this?" he groused.

"Ease up, Chris," Buck ordered mildly. "Bitching ain't gonna make it any better."

"You're too easygoing for your own good," Chris muttered sourly, but Buck only grinned.

"Have to be, to put up with your shit, don't I?"

That got a quick smile out of Chris, which was plenty reward for Buck at the moment. And Chris didn't disagree, either. 

Wire-meshed glass surrounded them on three sides, and while the rooms were mostly soundproof, inmates, guards and anyone else who walked the halls on the other side of the glass could see in, prisoners staring with interest at any new face. Walking a beat he'd seen these rooms rarely. As detective, he'd spent far more time in them, and unlike Chris, Buck had kind of gotten used to them.

It took another ten minutes for Vin to show, and Buck felt some tension bleed away when Vin came shuffling down the hall. While he was moving slowly, he was walking on his own. The guard beside him was someone Buck recognized but couldn't place—somebody Travis knew, he thought. He checked the guy's plastic nameplate, noting his name—Gresham—without recognizing it. 

When a grin split Vin's face, destroying the carefully neutral expression, Buck felt an answering smile on his own. "Well, look who's on his feet!" he said as they came in, halfway to coming up to shake Vin's hand or hug him or something, only the guard got in there sideways and led Vin firmly to the chair at the end of the table. 

"Fifteen minutes," Gresham warned all three of them and proceeded to hook Vin's shackles to the table. "Call button's on the wall if you get done sooner." 

"Charming fella," Buck said, then picked up the chair nearest Vin and flipped it around, straddling it backwards. Chris just eased a hip up on the table beside Buck. "So, how you doing, Vin?" Buck asked, still grinning but his eyes were giving Vin a once over that was half friendly concern and half flirt. 

Vin glanced down at himself. "I'm all right."

"No trouble?" Chris was more serious.

"Wasn't in much a state to give 'em any," Vin answered. 

"I was asking if anyone was giving you any trouble," Chris said and Buck snickered.

"Naw... been sleeping mostly. Infirmary's not bad. Get to wear these," he said rattling his chains. "But the bed's decent, docs seem to know what they're doing. Didn't expect to see you guys, though. Thought it was that Hunter come back, and that I was gonna have to call Lenny."

"Lenny?" Buck asked, grinning. "You know it ain't smart to get so friendly with people in here right off, don't you?" 

"Hunter?" Chris said, voice hard, and Buck drew a little straighter. "Abigail Hunter? You did like I told you?" Chris asked—well, demanded, really. 

Buck tried to warn Chris off with a look. The tension had ratcheted up a bit and Vin took a deep breath that stopped abruptly in the middle as his hands jerked, an aborted attempt to reach for his side, Buck thought, that was brought up short by the cuffs. "Pretty much, yeah," Vin said. "Told her I didn't know where Eli Joe was and that I thought you fellers would get around to finding him for her." 

"Shit," Chris said. "Don't see her again, Vin. She wants to keep this local and try at least the murder here, and there won't be much we can do if she pulls it off. She and Travis aren't that friendly."

"She's good," Vin said, wary, "but she's got nothing to offer me. Her best still had me up on manslaughter and felony assault. I'll lose my license." 

"Your license oughtta be the least of your worries right now," Chris said, and Buck nearly grinned. Trust ol' Chris to be anything but optimistic.

"And if she comes again, I'll see her," Vin went on. "Won't do me any good to piss off the DA, whether she's got something for me or not. I did tell my lawyer to find me a bail bondsman," Vin added. 

"We've already got you a good bondsman," Buck said, surprised, and moved on to the more interesting point. "Lawyer?" He'd have thought Vin didn't have two thoughts left to rub together, the way he'd looked last night.

"Court appointed," Vin said. "That's Lenny. Seems an okay guy from what I could tell. Willing to do the legwork anyway. How's it going at your end?"

"It's going fine. We can't wait to get rid of Eli Joe though."

"You left him in the bathroom all this time?" Vin asked, eyes lighting up in delight. Buck grinned again.

"Yup. And the light switch is outside the door, so whenever he gives anybody shit, it's lights-out. He's not quite so talky now."

Vin chuckled at that. "Worth it then," he said.

"You really are nuts," Chris said but it was more admiring than accusatory and Vin nodded. 

"We've got a better lawyer, let me hook you up with her—"

"A better lawyer costs money I ain't willing to spend yet," Vin cut him off. 

"Better now than later when it won't do you any good. Besides, Claire Reeves gave me the number for your Tribal Defense fund people and I already called 'em, just in case. They're all set to help you out."

Buck caught the way Chris blanched, and wondered what he was reacting to. Did he expect Vin to be pissed? "Thanks, Buck," Vin finally said, and the slight surprise that registered on Chris's face confirmed Buck's guess. 

"Sure. I'm gonna call Claire this afternoon now that we've seen you, let her know how you're doin'. Anything you want me to tell her?" 

"She's Claire now, is she?" Vin asked, not quite challenging the idea. 

Chris cut in with, "She was Claire from the second she looked at him with those big doe eyes and asked him to keep an eye on you, Vin. Buck's a lost cause when it comes to saying 'no' to a woman."

"Really?" Vin asked, sexual speculation filtering into his voice, making Buck's back go up in self-defense. "Must make things a little tough at home..."

"Oh stop it, both of you," Buck chided. "Claire's lookin' out for Vin's best interests, and she's a good woman besides. And as for you," he rounded on Vin with a frown, "I barely remember how to do it with a woman, so get your mind out of the gutter."

"Just like ridin' a bike, I imagine," Chris said, deadpan, and Buck frowned all the harder. He didn't say anything, though, just watched the look Chris and Vin shared. It was obvious Vin was coming around, and coming around fast where Chris was concerned. Chris's gun in his face probably hadn't helped matters, nor the pistol whipping Vin had taken—but Vin hadn't known they were anything more than working partners back then. Buck let them have their moment uninterrupted, pleased that Vin was warming up to Chris. He pretty much automatically liked folks who liked Chris, maybe because there weren't that many of ‘em.

"So you talked to Hunter," Buck said, changing the subject. 

Vin hesitated, and Buck just waited him out until he sat forward to reach in his shirt pocket to pull out a business card: Leonard Horowitz, lawyer working for the county. "Lenny Horowitz. Y'all know him?"

"Not to speak of," Chris said, surprising Buck who didn't know him at all.

"So you don't know if he's, I don't know, trustworthy?" 

"What's up, Vin?" Chris asked. 

"I've got to get something sent to me from Lander. Didn't know if I should send it to him… hell, he's in the same building as the D.A. That ain't so good for me sleepin' nights." 

"You can send it to us," Buck offered. 

"Y'all don't mind?" Vin asked, sounding doubtful. 

"Sure," Chris said. "What is it?"

Vin stopped cold at that, and Buck peered back, checking his own gut against the sudden interest Chris was taking. 

Vin flicked the card across the table toward them. "I told Lenny I had a little something to follow up on, and he'll want to know it's being handled. Can you just give him a call when you see the package, and I'll figure out what to do then?"

"What're you having sent?" Chris asked and Vin hesitated again, dropping his eyes. 

More amused than concerned by the cloak-and-dagger, Buck caught Chris's eye, but Chris—Chris looked to be taking this plenty seriously. 

"Is it gonna get us arrested?" Chris asked, sliding off the table and stepping around it to take the chair next to Vin, opposite Buck.

"No, just... you guys have done enough, done your jobs. The rest of it's— maybe there's more to this than... this is the last thing I'll ask you guys to do for me," he said like he meant it.

Buck felt a flash of anger and tamped it down. "We said we'd see you through this. You think I was lying to you?" he demanded. "You think I'd lie to that lady back in Lander?"

"No." Vin was firm. "But you've seen me through, and I'm here, ain't I? And Eli Joe'll be locked up soon enough. You've done your jobs, so I just need this one thing."

"One thing?" Buck demanded. "One thing? You noticed you're still stuck in a Georgia jail don't you, on a murder charge, with a DA sniffing around you?"

"Not your problem," he said carefully, looking a little flummoxed. "You signed on to do a job—"

"And the job's done, so shut the hell up about it and let's move on," Buck ordered, gruff. "What's in the package and what do you need us to do to help you?" he asked simply.

"I..." Vin ran down, like he didn't didn't know what to say. Buck wanted to browbeat him a little, but held back because Chris did. Finally Vin said, "Ain't nothing that says that James isn't still ready to shut me up by any means possible. And if he doesn't know enough about you fellas yet, he will, if he's serious."

"I'd say he's serious," Buck snapped out. "Those boys in Wyoming weren't hunting deer, Vin."

"I know that!" Vin snapped back, "and you've got a hole in your arm to remind you that they weren't too particular who they had to go through to get to me. Better you were out of it," he said and pulled his gaze away from Buck's. 

Great. A martyr. Buck sucked in a breath to rail on him when Vin pushed on. "Never mind. I'll get Lenny to get me a PO box or something."

Chris had stayed silent all through it, but at this he raised a hand, catching Buck's eye and glaring at him. "Cut it out, both of you," he said mildly. "You can have your package shipped to us as long as it isn't illegal, and we'll tell your attorney when it arrives, or tell you, or whoever you want us to tell. We'll hold onto it for you." He pulled out one of his own business cards. "We've got a PO box , or the office or," he flipped it over and wrote another address on the back, "you can have it sent to our place and we'll bring it to you. Your choice."

Vin took the offered card and carefully curled forward to tuck it away in his shirt pocket. "Thanks." He deflated a little, fidgeting, and Chris wondered if it was the pain or jail or something else entirely. 

"We can help you better out here than you can help yourself stuck in jail, Vin," Buck said, having taken the time, Chris knew, to push that anger or disappointment down a bit.

"And I appreciate it," Vin said quickly. "But I honest to God don't know how big this is, and neither do y'all," he said, glancing between the two of them. "I don't want you mixed up in it."

Chris ignored it. He didn't have time for this shit and Vin was right about the part where nobody knew anything. "We'll pass on to Travis that you've seen Hunter already," he said, jerking Vin's attention back to him.

"Why?" Vin looked wary again, and Chris could guess why. 

"He's taking your bond. He's the best around and he knows plenty of people in the court. You've got a better chance of making bail if he handles you." 

"Or filling a cemetery plot," Vin said, and gave Chris a hard look. "Buck told me he and Kincaid and Stuart James were friends." 

"The important word there is 'were'," Chris said. "There aren't a lot of men I'd vouch for, but Orrin Travis is one of them. He wants to get to the bottom of this, not hang somebody out to dry." 

Vin didn't look like he believed the words, and Chris didn't blame him. But it didn't matter either way because there wasn't much Vin could do about it from inside a prisoners' infirmary. 

"We were working on it while you were still under anesthetic in Lander," Buck said, still a little huffy. "Travis was. I don't know when he can get an arraignment, but it'll be quick and we'll keep you posted best we can."

Chris watched Vin twitch, like he was uncomfortable in his skin. He was just guessing, but the guy looked embarrassed. No big surprise, there; Buck made a lot of people uncomfortable. "Buck, go on out and sweet-talk whoever's at the desk so we can schedule some time with Vin tomorrow. I'll be right behind you."

They'd known each other long enough that Buck didn't even look surprised. He just nodded and stood up. "See you tomorrow, Vin."

Vin said "Yeah, thanks," and made half a show of checking out Buck's butt. Buck grinned—predictable—and Chris blanched, tossing an irritated look Vin's way; Buck was as vain as he was good-looking, and didn't need anyone else to remind him of that fact. 

As soon as the door closed behind Buck, Chris leaned forward, planting his elbows on the table. "Something you should understand about him," he said soberly. "He decides somebody's worth fighting for, he fights for them. You try to push him away you'll only piss him off. You won't actually stop him, so don't waste everybody's time trying." 

Vin stared at him blankly for a second before he got it, eyes darting toward the closed door. "I'm nothin' to either of you," he said slowly.

Chris frowned, distinctly uncomfortable. "That's where you're wrong. Sooner you realize that, the easier things'll get for everybody. Anything else we can do?"

Vin looked ready to bolt from the table, might have if the cuffs didn't hold him there. His eyes darted around, and Chris was all set to wait him out when the inner door swung open and Gresham came back in. 

"Fifteen minutes, fellas."

Vin looked relieved and leaned back in his chair. "Just give Chanu a call, if you would. Let him know I'm all right."

Chris nodded. "Don't you worry about that, Buck'll be on the phone with Claire and Chanu plenty. He likes them, too."

Vin frowned. "He stupid or something? He don't even know us."

Chris grinned faintly. "Complete fool, if you want the truth." He stood up. "See you tomorrow."

Buck was leaning halfway across the counter when Chris found him in the visitors' admissions area, talking up a storm to some uniformed guy about who knew what. "Buck," he said, slowing down just enough, but not stopping. It was noisier out here, people lined up on the other side of a metal detector being searched and checked before being allowed into this little waiting area, and he wanted out fast. The steel-and-glass door clanged shut behind them and Chris didn't look up at the sun, or around at the oddly planted little courtyard. He didn't react to anything except the sudden restless movements Buck was making beside him. "What?" he asked, glancing over.

"That boy ain't got the sense God gave fleas," Buck frowned. "Doesn't know a helping hand when he sees one."

"I don't think that's it," Chris said, turning everything Vin had said over in his mind.

"Well what then? He's not stupid."

"No. But what's in the package, Buck? What's he know, makes him think he'll put folks in danger? And what makes him think he can trade for better than felony assault when circumstantial evidence stacks up to murder one? Hell, they could get him for felony assault just for what he did to the cops when he bolted. Vin knows more than he's saying."

Buck chewed on that as they walked back toward the office, then bumped shoulders with Chris. "Well good," he said, sounding decided. "Get him out of there faster."

"Or land everybody in a bigger pile of shit."

But Buck just laughed, that careless, carefree sound that Chris alternately loved and hated, depending on the situation. "Either way, it oughtta be fun."

Chris resisted a sigh; the guy was certifiable. 

W&L • W&L • W&L 

At the federal building, Chris drummed his fingers against the laminated wood tabletop, annoyed without quite knowing why. Travis stared pointedly at his hand and Chris grinned slightly, stilling it. 

"How is Tanner?" Travis asked. 

"Don't you know more than we do?" he groused. Travis was playing his cards close to the vest even now. The canny sonofabitch always had. 

"Whitney?" 

Chris shrugged. "Couldn't say. Haven't paid him that much attention."

"If these men are the missing link to James, Chris, I want them."

Chris nodded. "Josiah's got Whitney. Don't worry, Orrin, you'll get him in one piece. As for Tanner," he paused, not sure exactly what he wanted to say. "Buck likes him." 

"Buck likes a lot of people," Orrin said, his tone alone making clear what he thought of Buck's judgment. He wasn't that far off. 

"I think…" he wasn't sure what he thought yet. 

Orrin either recognized his indecision or decided he wouldn't be able to drag an opinion out of him yet, and changed the subject. "Marshal Glenn has proved very cooperative; he offered to fax me affidavits on Tanner's character from himself, several other marshals, and a bunch of Indians, every one of them ready to vouch for Tanner."

Chris nodded slowly. "I've met some of them. They believe in him."

"And Buck does too?"

"You know he does," Chris said with a scowl. 

He watched Orrins' eyes because he knew the man wasn't going to say a word either way. Orrin's eyes though, hard as steel, sometimes gave him away and they did today; he didn't believe Vin was innocent even though he was giving Chris and Buck their way. He didn't believe Tanner was innocent and probably wouldn't until a jury convicted another man. Chris didn't care much, as long as Orrin kept cooperating. Buck could be wrong about Vin and Vin Tanner could be playing them all for fools. He doubted it, but not enough to try and sway Orrin Travis's resolve. 

"What are his chances for making bail?"

"Glenn said he'll attest to the fact that we no longer have a flight risk on our hands, and so will the others." 

"We don't." 

"You'd better not, because I don't expect the bail to be trivial. And that's assuming we can get it." 

"Do what you can, Orrin. I don't want to have to put the farm up against his bail."

Travis's eyes, which had been surveying the room, snapped to him. "You were serious?"

Chris shifted uncomfortably. "Thought you were. Buck said you were. About us holding Vin's surety," he added.

"I was. But it appears the situation may be changing."

"Not that much," Chris said. "We'll do it." 

"You mind if I ask you why?" Orrin asked, and Chris stood firm under the scrutiny.

"Now that we've got Whitney in custody, Buck's sure there's no flight risk, and I agree with him. Tanner's got nowhere, and no reason anymore, to run."

"Murder?"

"He wants to clear his name. Hell, the bigger problem is Vin getting killed before he's any use to anybody, isn't it? And if he is, the bond is dropped anyway. You'd be covered."

"Don't change the subject," Orrin rapped out, and Chris glared.

"You want the bond or not?" he asked, sidestepping.

Travis frowned and cleared his throat. "I'm not sure I could foreclose on you if he did skip, Chris," he said slowly. "I certainly wouldn't want to."

"Oh, you'd find a way," Chris grinned.

Turning his coffee cup against the formica, Travis said only, "I'd prefer the situation never arise. The reward on Tanner is in a legal bond and I'm hounding the attorneys to speed things up as much as I'm able. With luck, you'll see the money by the weekend. You can use that as surety." 

"I don't want to lose that either," Chris admitted. But they wouldn't, and he knew it. "You gonna have trouble, being Tanner's bondsman?"

"Trouble?"

"With James."

"No. I'm better able to keep tabs on Tanner if I hold his bond, and if Stuart asks, he'll understand that. What about you? Any trouble I should know about?"

"We'll be fine. Need some sleep more than anything. Few days to rest up." He tilted his cup back and drained the strong, stale coffee. "Time...."

"Time's a luxury in this business."

"Well, we can afford some luxury right about now," Chris said, barely keeping the sharp edges out of his voice. He wanted Buck at the house, and that bullet wound a tiny pale white line, a faded memory. He wanted Vin out of jail and kept alive if he could manage it, because of a promise he'd made, because of Buck, because of—damn it, he respected the man too, and didn't want to see him hurt. He sure as hell didn't want to see him dead.

"After this is over, maybe, if you can keep the money," Orrin said, ever the pragmatist. 

Charlene Cruz showed up before Chris could snap out a reply, and he knew already that this was a set-up, that Orrin had gotten him here for her. 

"Orrin, how are you? Mr. Larabee, good to see you again. How's Buck?"

Chris resisted a smirk; it was 'Mr. Larabee' with these women, but always 'Buck' for his partner. "He's fine. Just a crease and some stitches."

"Well, good. I was worried when I heard."

Charlene's Hispanic last name was a mystery; she was tall and blonde, wore a skirt with heels rather than the pant-style business suit most attorneys preferred, and she was the kind of wholesome pretty that Buck used to chase. Chris couldn't recall if Buck had ever dated her, but it didn't matter. "I'll tell him."

"I'd appreciate it. I'll want to talk to him when he's feeling up to it."

Chris pulled out a business card and scribbled Buck's cell number on the back. 

She smiled brightly. "So, let's get down to business, shall we?" Chris canted a shrewd look Orrin's way and leaned back in his chair. 

After she swore them to secrecy so earnestly that Chris wondered if there'd be a secret handshake, she opened a case file and pushed it across the table. He looked vaguely familiar, but then so did a lot of paunchy, sixty-year-old men. "The man in the photo is Stuart James. Most of his suspected criminal activity has had to do with illegal immigrants and crimes outside our borders. But Jess Kincaid..." she paused with a respectful nod to Orrin, "stepped forward. Apparently the very few investigations by INS that went anywhere turned up next to nothing—a border rancher importing day labor, hardly something they concern themselves with down in Texas. But there was a fire on his land several years ago, a truck fire. The truck burned hot and the gas tank exploded, killing forty-seven unidentified and, we're guessing, undocumented Hispanics, and two Caucasians of unknown origin. No one put much effort into that either, I'm afraid, until Jess Kincaid turned up in my partner's office four months back with a desire to clear his conscience."

Chris exchanged a glance with Orrin; this was all news to him, and he wondered if Orrin had known Kincaid had something to feel guilty for. She answered his concern in her next breath.

"I'm sorry, Orrin, I know his public reason for being in Atlanta concerned closing up a vacation home in preparation for a sale."

"Water under the bridge," Orrin replied gruffly. "How involved was Jess?"

Chris noted her hesitation again, and wondered what she was holding back. "Mr. Kincaid was involved in a way that many men and women approach criminal behavior. He felt that motives were justified, and his reasoning was sound, until the truck fire and the deaths of innocent people. He pulled out then, according to his testimony, but left Mr. James alone to do as he would." She exchanged a glance with each of them. "This is Texas we're talking about. Remember the Alamo and all that. For what it's worth, I believe that Mr. Kincaid's involvement was probably minor. But he had knowledge of felonies, and his wife's death made him willing to come forward." 

"So what did you get from Kincaid before he died?" Chris asked, trying to move things along. 

She stepped around the question with one of her own. "Do you think any testimony you or your people—or Mr. Tanner—might have would help our case against James?"

Chris bit back a curse. "Whitney's an asshole, Vin Tanner's a decent man, the hit men had shitty aim or they'd be dead right now and I'd be the one on charges," he said sourly, "and I couldn't tell you a damned thing about James that isn't hearsay. Things Whitney told me without really admitting anything."

"Excited utterance?"

Chris grinned tightly. "Suppose you could say that."

"I'd still like to hear it. All of it."

Chris glanced around the near-empty cafeteria. "Now?"

She cleared her throat. "Under sworn deposition. If you would."

Chris had to smile at her tact; she could subpoena him before he could walk back to the office, and they both knew it. "I need to look at my schedule, talk to my people. Next few days though."

"The sooner the better. Thank you, Mr. Larabee."

He stood when she did, and held out his hand. "Call me Chris."

W&L • W&L • W&L 

Buck didn't pay much attention to the drive north. Their office was strategic to the downtown police station, the courthouse and the jail, and just far enough a drive from his and Chris's place to give them a good thirty minutes to unwind before they got home. 

In the early days, they'd worked from home and later subcontracted Nathan. But not many months passed before they were busy enough that even with Nathan downtown they were spending more time in the car and less time at home. So they'd found the office about the same time Nathan introduced them to Josiah, and business had really taken off. 

Only after the home office became more convenience than necessity had Buck actually noticed that he thought of the farm as his home as opposed to Chris and Sarah's. Even with the papers and the quitclaims and his name on everything, he'd still thought of the place as Chris's. But something had changed. Maybe it was just all those times when Nathan or Josiah or Ezra would ask them if they were going to be home. Maybe it was Chris's requests to pick up something on his way home. 

Vin Tanner was a bit like the farm. Without really noticing it, Buck was coming to think of the guy as a friend. Vin certainly wasn't a skip any longer. And while Chris still thought a pretty face sucked all the blood from Buck's brain, which was patently untrue and always had been, Buck didn't deny that Vin was easy on the eyes. More, though, Buck was curious about him, like most anyone Buck met that he didn't already have a reason to dislike. But while he knew he was friendly with most people, there was a pretty short list of folks he'd call friends in the forever, do anything for them, kind of way.

Vin wasn't there yet, either, but he was closer than plenty of people ever got. Buck cared enough not to want the bad guys to win, and more importantly not to let Vin lose. He cared enough to be on his way to review an evidence and forensics report, when all he should be wanting to do about now was unwind, recover—to catch a break and make Chris catch one, too. 

The Roswell police department came into view just off the road ahead. Damn, he needed a beer and some sleep and to forget about all this for a while, but that wasn't going to happen any time soon.

The building was new—bright and shiny, and Buck grinned as he pulled off the road and into the parking lot. He'd been away too long, lost touch with people or just plain forgotten to keep up with them; that was the only reason he could think of that they wouldn't fax the report to him. Still, there was something bugging Buck about Jess Kincaid's murder and he hadn't been able to figure out what it was exactly. The incident report Travis had originally shown them had been sketchy and too brief, to Buck's mind, and he'd filled out hundreds of his own so he knew what to look for. One very dead body and one injured suspect who seemed disoriented and unsteady. Bits about belligerence that Buck would bet had been added to punch up Vin's personality a little, and make the uniforms feel a little less ashamed of losing him once they'd gotten him cuffed and into the car. The follow up on Vin's escape had been equally brief.

He found the records office easily enough, and the very attractive clerk who staffed the desk had the same effect on him that any pretty—or smart, or sweet—woman did. He felt the smile stretch his face just as that tingle of delight tightened his skin, and he chuckled a little at himself, at his mother for making him love women so damned much, at Chris for making him so content to give them up. He dropped names and histories and his old badge number, adding that he'd been a striking man in his old uniform in case she hadn't figured that out for herself. She was cheerful and chatty, and there was no better way to pass twenty minutes or so than by flirting lightly with a pretty girl—armed, well-trained, and professional just added to the spice. 

She wrangled the investigating detectives for him, and he'd just accepted the sealed envelope and promised to buy them both a drink sometime when his cell phone rang. He answered it as he turned and walked back to his car, sliding a finger under the envelope flap to open it.

"You still in Roswell?"

Buck grinned. "Just got done. I'm headed back. What'd Travis say?"

"He set me up; it was Charlene Cruz who wanted me. She says hello and hopes your arm isn't giving you too much trouble," Chris said, a hint of humor in his voice. "She wants you to call her."

"You tell her you been taking real good care of it?" Buck teased.

"I did not. I told her it was barely a scratch." Then, less joking, more concerned, "How is it?"

Buck laughed. "Sore. I'll live. You want to find someplace to get dinner down there?"

"No. I'll catch the train up to North Springs. There isn't anything else going on today anyway." 

That was a lie, and Buck chewed on that for all of two seconds. Chris sounded a little tired and edgy but not overly tense. Still, Buck knew plenty of ways to wring that tension out of his lover, and the flirting had twitched his libido up a notch. He made a quick calculation about how long it would take him to get food, pick up Chris, and get home.

"Sounds like a plan. You get anything from Charlene?"

"Not much. She doesn't want information she gives us to taint testimony."

"She wants us to testify?" Buck asked, surprised. 

"Depositions," Chris said, a little tightly. "Her boyfriend, the other attorney who was already working with a grand jury, what's his name again?"

Buck grinned. Chris had a delightful habit of forgetting the names of people he didn't like. "Jim Palminteri."

"Yeah. Kincaid didn't really come to Atlanta to sell a house, Buck, he came to give testimony to Palminteri for a case against James. Palminteri got a lot from Kincaid before Kincaid was killed, but they either didn't get enough or they don't have corroboration. That's where they hope Vin comes in. And us."

"What the hell can we tell 'em?" Buck asked.

"That's what I asked her." Chris sounded disgusted by the process, and Buck couldn't blame him. "Charlene thinks Vin's story on the Kincaid murder is going to help them, and that we might know something too. I think she wants James like Hunter wants Vin."

Buck gave a low whistle and settled his hip against the Mustang's quarter panel. "Abigail Hunter and Charlene Cruz, now there's a fight I'm not sure I'd want to see. Anything on Vin's bail?"

"Orrin's still working on it. Charlene's going to make a call to push the arraignment up—could be this Friday. But that's not going to help ease anything with Hunter. Look, I'm heading into the train station. I should be there in about twenty minutes. I'm starving, by the way."

There were plenty of places nearby, and Buck ticked them off in his head. "I'll call Sonny's if barbecue is all right."

"McDonald's would be all right at this point. I'll see you in a bit," Chris said and Buck rang off, glancing around to orient himself. There was a Sonny's just up the road. He had time enough to pick up an order, probably.

It timed out just about right, and Buck didn't even have to turn off the car engine at the station. The train had just pulled out and Chris was looking around for him as he drove in. 

Chris got into the car and sagged against the leather like a deflated balloon, but he had a smile for Buck and reached over to pat his thigh. "Smells good," he said, poking into the bags on the floorboard and pulling out the order of fries Buck had bought to tide him over. "Do we have any food at the house?"

"Not much," Buck admitted, putting the car in gear. "Canned stuff, stuff in the freezer. We can go to the store tomorrow on the way home." There was no northbound return to the interstate near the station, so he took the bridge across, heading for the state highway. Traffic was heavier there and he thumped the wheel rhythmically as he got closer to the intersection.

"What's on your mind?" Chris asked, covering his hand lightly and briefly.

Buck grinned and shook his head, then glanced up at where the light was still red. This would have to be a fast conversation. "Was thinking about taking a run over to Mountain Park—Jess Kincaid's place," he added at Chris's blank stare.

"Any reason why now?"

"We're close and it's bugging me. We could eat at the lake."

"Nah, we can stop on our way in tomorrow. Let's go home."

"Just a buzz by," Buck prodded as the light turned green. He could still maneuver his way into the turn lane. 

Chris's hand dropped quickly to the outside of Buck's thigh, knuckles rubbing roughly down the seam of Buck's pants. "We can only do so much, Buck," he said, trying to be reassuring and understanding, and Buck had to smile again. He'd watched Chris do this with Sarah too, when something was worrying her—take off some of the load because while Chris really didn't much like to talk things through, he was better able to hold up under doubts. 

Buck didn't think Chris would ever realize how little Buck needed such reassurance, but it was sweet and kind, and said a whole lot more about the kind of man Chris was, the kind of husband he'd been and lover he was that he kept trying. That was worth more to Buck than Chris actually being able to fix anything at all. 

"I know." He eased the Mustang into gear, barely moving as yet. "I just thought, a quick look..."

Chris's hand turned and landed more heavily on his upper thigh, squeezing hard, and he looked down at it, then over at Chris who was trying to hide worry behind a silent offer of sex. "Let's go home," Chris said, and Buck grinned. 

"Okay." He knew when not to argue.

Chris finished the fries, occasionally feeding one to Buck until the little bag was empty, then fished out a quart-sized cup of tea. "This mine?"

Buck, far more willing to taste unsweetened tea than Chris had ever been to drink it with sugar, sucked briefly on the straw. "Yeah."

"Okay." 

Only the sounds of clinking ice and straw friction on plastic broke the comfortable silence for the rest of the drive home, and it wasn't long before they turned off the state road and up the long drive. Buck sighed gently. It was nice to be home, like there was some switch that got clicked over that let him shut off most worries. Granted, Chris had the damnedest ability to reset that switch. As far as Buck had ever seen, Chris flat out didn't like to let go entirely. It could be a challenge to Buck's sensibilities to get the man to unwind a bit after a job, to leave work behind him for a week here and there. But Chris had always been like that, and Buck counted it among his good points that he was more successful than not at getting Chris to focus on the important things. 

He cast a covert look at the envelope where it stuck out from underneath the food. Hell, he hadn't let go either, and this particular job was pretty much following him everywhere, crowding his thoughts, driving him to do a lot more than he'd ever done for any mere skip. He fingered the corner of the crime scene report, a little worried that the barbeque might have soaked through the bags. He wanted to see what the detectives had found even more than he wanted the barbeque. The promise in Chris's eyes was damned tempting, but he was feeling too responsible even for that. He'd make good on that promise later, and then some. "You get the food," he ordered as he slid the Mustang into its space under the carport and killed the engine.

Chris silently obeyed, and Buck entered the house behind him and swerved right into the hall that led to their office, heeled off his shoes, eased the door to, stretched out on the leather couch and started to read. 

Chris realized he wasn't being followed only after he'd made it to the kitchen, and glanced back down the hall. "Buck?" No answer. He cocked his head, listening for bathroom sounds, but no. It was almost as if he were alone in the house. Frowning, Chris pulled out one of the containers and a cup of baked beans, sat down at the table, and stared out the window. The grass out back was so overgrown that it obscured the bottom boards of the white fence. It needed cutting, or maybe they could wait until there was a solid window of sunlight, enough to dry it out, and bale it. He'd been thinking more and more about livestock, and he knew Buck had too, and waiting and worrying on Chanu Reeves' ranch had given Chris too much time to think. Tomorrow wasn't a guarantee, not for either of them. 

Buck would go all 'cowboy' on him, he imagined, pulling out his old Stetson and his Wrangler jeans, and get out there with whoever they borrowed the baling equipment from, and it'd be worth it just to watch him like that, in sweat-stained tee shirt and work gloves, muscles bunching and skin glistening with sweat and sunlight…. It was better than letting all that grass go to waste anyway, he thought, ignoring the fact that they'd done just that every preceding year that a neighbor hadn't wanted to harvest it. Might be time to repaint the fence too, he mused, still listening with half an ear for Buck. That'd be a chore, and not for the first time Chris regretted painting the thing white in the first place. Maybe they'd replace it a little at a time with that recycled fake stuff made out of sawdust and plastic bags or whatever. He'd seen an ad about it that said it lasted forever. 

He kept glancing back down the hall every minute or so. Buck had closed the front door behind them, so he was in here somewhere. 

Chris picked through a couple of ribs and when Buck still didn't show, he got itchy enough to pick up the food bag and go on a silent hunt. Their bedroom was dim and empty, and so was the bath. Nothing in the living room or the dining room. He took a peek out the front just to be certain, and checked the big shower in his old master; still nothing—oh. 

He pushed the door open with his toe and let it silently swing back on its hinges, standing for at least a minute in the study doorway, aromatic food in hand, watching Buck work. Watching Buck compensate. He held the pages in his right hand, and every time he needed to turn a page he'd reach with his left hand, flinch, hiss, set the pile on his chest and reorganize it with his right. Every time Buck's arm jerked, so did Chris's belly, and the hickory-smoked smell of barbeque was almost enough to set off his brain, almost enough to bring back flashes of fire and the stink of smoke—from Lander, from Vin's cabin, from a burnt-out shell of a car. He could hear his blood pounding in his ears by the time he finally tried to break the spell. "Buck..." his throat was tight, and he coughed to clear it even as Buck recoiled, startled by the sound of his name. 

"Oh. Hey," Buck greeted absently, his attention already back on the police report.

Chris waved the bag around in the air. "You didn't eat," he tried, gritting his teeth.

"I'll get to it. It's not even five, yet." 

"You had anything since breakfast?" Buck didn't even answer, and Chris kept standing there lamely holding the food and trying not to hyperventilate. Buck was fine, Buck was lying here right in front of him pissed off about a case—Buck was fine. "What'd you find?" 

"Lotta blank spaces," Buck said, irritation clear in his voice. "They think it's Vin, and forensics only checked the inside of the house and the work is damned sketchy even there. Seems like they were looking for Vin's fingerprints to tie everything off with a neat little bow, and of course they got 'em. On the front doorknob, the doorframe between the living room and dining room. On a chunk of hardwood floor where it looks like he took a nap, if you read between the lines. They've got blood from the same spot that's most likely gonna match with Vin's..."

"So?"

Buck craned his head around, so Chris walked into the room to make it easier. "So Vin's not an idiot," Buck continued. "Let's say for a minute that he really did come here to commit murder—which I don't believe for a second," Buck added gruffly, and Chris smiled. He didn't believe it either, but for the time being it was easier to let Buck carry that banner; it kept Buck from embarrassing him about his trust in Vin, a trust he so rarely placed quickly. "Seems like if he was in that line of work, he'd have, I don't know, worn a pair of gloves? High-tailed it out of there? Not gotten shot? Damn it, Chris, they think he's incompetent!"

Chris grinned at Buck's tone and the idea that, at this moment, under these circumstances, Buck was offended by the idea that somebody might be insulting Vin's abilities. "Yeah."

"Well, he's not."

"I never said he was." Far from it, in fact, he thought, forcing himself to focus. 

"Well?" 

"Well, what?" 

"Well what the hell are we gonna do about it?" Buck swung his legs off the couch and started to roll up, forgetting and using his left arm. When it buckled and Buck cursed and almost stumbled to his knees on the rug, Chris jerked like he'd been hit, and moved in. 

"Give me that," he said, extending his hand for the report then setting it and the food on the floor as he knelt and slid Buck's light jacket over his shoulders and started easing it down his arms.

"This isn't gonna go where I think it is, is it," Buck said. It wasn't even a question.

Chris frowned up at him.

"Now Chris..." 

"Don't 'now Chris' me," he said tersely. To his credit, Buck gave in and didn't try to argue about it, and Chris pushed the short sleeve of Buck's tee shirt up so he could see the bandage. He tensed further when he saw the blood. It shouldn't keep bleeding if the damned doctors had done their jobs right. And if Buck had been taking it easy. But Chris had seen him on and off since they'd left Lander, forgetting, using his arm. "If you've torn something under there..."

"Shit, Chris," Buck complained, turning his arm a little and twisting his head around to see the bandage, "that's nothing."

"Get moving. Now." He waited until he saw surrender in the blue eyes, then got up and headed for their bathroom. Buck dragged his feet, in protest no doubt, but it gave Chris time to gather up the supplies and lay them out beside the sink: antibiotic cream, alcohol, tape, Q-tips, the big 4" x 6" gauze pads he'd picked up because he was afraid the smaller ones would let the tape catch at the stitches, and a washcloth which he dampened with warm water. He was just wringing it out when Buck walked in. 

"Gettin' ready for surgery, there?" Buck taunted him, but Chris didn't waste time.

"Come on, sit down," he urged, pushing the toilet lid down. He needed to see, now, and yeah, he knew he was being stupid but he couldn't get those dark flashes out of his mind, and probably wouldn't until Buck was fully recovered. 

"I don't know, pard, maybe we should go to the emergency room," Buck teased, pulling his shirt over his head. It was tempting, and he didn't care how much shit Buck gave him, if anything looked amiss under that bandage that was exactly where they'd be going. Buck sat where he was ordered, and Chris dampened the bandage with the washcloth, just in case things had gotten dried or sticky under there. Then he eased up a corner of the tape, gently lifted the gauze until it had cleared all the stitches, and jerked it the rest of the way off.

"Ouch!"

"Baby," he muttered, as much to allay his own panic as to try and shut Buck up for a minute. "Serve you right if it got infected and left you with an even bigger scar." 

"It's not gonna—" 

Chris just looked at him, and Buck finally sobered up and went silent. Chris wasn't sure he was comfortable with whatever Buck had read in his eyes, but at least his partner wasn't resisting treatment anymore. A line of blood had dribbled from stitches toward the back of Buck's arm and dried onto his skin. Chris used the Q-tips to gently rub the blood away, biting his lip as he concentrated on what he was doing. Just a furrow, he reminded himself. No infection. The fabric had been cleaned out of the wound in a hospital, and the stitches were expert and even. Buck was fine. The skin looked angry, though, dark and inflamed and puckering out around the entire line of stitches; it would scar, and it wouldn't be pretty.

"It's just healing, Chris," Buck said, with less mocking. "Skin's getting tight and the stitches are pulling. They could probably come out."

"Dream on," Chris said stubbornly. "Doc said ten days and it's barely been three." 

"The doc was paranoid."

"Oh yeah, who am I gonna side with in this?" he said tightly. His worry was putting him on a dangerous edge and he recognized it, hated it, not wanting a fight or even an argument. "Just..." he blew out a slow breath. "Just let me get it cleaned up, and then let's eat. Okay?" He looked up then, no longer caring what Buck might see as long as he got what he wanted. And Buck, dependable Buck, softened and smiled, then barely nodded. 

"Yeah. Sure."

"That's better. Wish I could get you to be this cooperative all the time." But the truth was, he could, more often than not, and maybe Buck deserved a little more than bitching from him. "Now tell me the truth, no horse shit," he breathed as he used another Q-tip to glop antibiotic cream over and around the stitches, "how is it?"

Buck's sigh forewarned. "It's fine, Chris. It's fine." 

"Thought you liked it when I babied you," he grinned, then rubbed some petroleum jelly around the outer edges where the skin was red and dry before tearing open a new bandage and laying it over the wound. 

"I do," Buck huffed. "But I hate it when you mother me."

That stung, and The hell I am! almost slipped out before Chris clamped his teeth shut. He was, he knew he was. "You've got enough scars," he said, trying to justify his panic—which he knew he couldn't—and his overly anxious response to a little blood, which when push came to shove, Buck should more than understand. "All done," he said, a little embarrassed as he started cleaning up, but Buck reached out with his right hand and caught his arm, then touched a finger to the new bandage. 

"Thanks," Buck said simply, ducking his head a little until Chris met his eyes. They were sparkling and gentle, and when Chris flushed at being read so damned easily, Buck grinned. Chris bent forward to kiss him soundly on that smile before he backed away, still embarrassed. 

"Just…take it easy," he said.

"I will, if you tell me what set you off."

"What?" He frowned. "Nothing, I'm—"

"C'mon, pard, something did. You had that white-around-the-eyes look." 

Chris blinked, and a flash of something flared behind his eyelids. Buck would carry that scar on his shoulder because Chris hadn't listened. He'd put Buck in the line of fire—in the line of a fire—because he was determined to do things his own way. It wasn't worth it, and if Buck had died…. "Nothing," he said steadily. Then, into the waiting silence, "Didn't know where you were. Barbeque. You know we've only slept in our bed two nights in the last six weeks?"

"Huh?" Buck frowned, thrown off-balance. 

There. That was better. "Come on," he said again. "Dinner, okay? Then bed for awhile."

"I want to finish reading that report..."

"You said yourself there wasn't much there. Later, all right?" He met Buck's eyes again, relieved when after a second Buck nodded. 

"Yeah, all right, Chris."

They retrieved the food and took it out onto the deck, fighting the occasional late-afternoon fly for sauce. Chris polished off the baked beans while Buck took over the mashed potatoes, and they shared the coleslaw evenly between them. 

Buck got distracted by something, Chris couldn't say what, but he kept staring off into the middle distance and a slow smile started across his face.

"What?" Chris asked him, a spoon of baked beans halfway to his mouth. 

"You ever notice how much we live out of Styrofoam even when we're home?" Buck said with a chuckle. 

Chris shrugged. They were lazy in the kitchen, and habits of the road took awhile to die.

Buck polished off another rib. "Really though, I was thinkin' about what a lucky kid I was. You know how I'd take leftover drive-through burgers to school for lunch? I was the envy of all the kids, and half the time I'd trade with somebody just to see what homemade food tasted like."

"Yeah." Chris remembered. Long nights in a patrol car had revealed everything they hadn't already learned about each other in the Navy. Most of their history they just rehashed, now and then. "How's your ma?"

"She's good." Buck chuckled again. "I called her this morning, woke her up before dawn. She sends her love."

Chris eased a little closer. Buck still called his mother when something was bothering him, and Chris could guess that this morning, it had been the trouble with Vin. "We ought to go see her. Or fly her and Frank out here," he added. Looked like they'd be able to afford a few gifts. On the other hand, Frank was loaded and that pair didn't need any help in the financial department. 

"Your folks too," Buck said.

Chris rolled his eyes. "Your mother's more fun."

"There's nothing wrong with your folks," Buck scolded him lightly. 

Chris shook his head. "They still try to keep us from sleeping together," he reminded. 

"So? They're more traditional. And," he grinned, "they don't need any more grey hairs from worrying about what we might get up to naked. They're good people, Chris. And they love you."

Buck seemed happy to accept or ignore their newfound disapproval of him, and rarely if ever did he even acknowledge how much more cool and polite they'd gotten after Chris had told them about his and Buck's "new deal," as Buck liked to call it: the word "marriage" always made Buck's face scrunch up in discomfort, and Chris wondered sometimes if it wouldn't scrunch up just the same way if Chris was suggesting it of Buck and some woman. Buck never made an issue of it when they went to Indiana, and kept Chris on a short leash when Chris's folks visited—rarely—down here. Chris always felt like he was on the outside, with Buck playing the clown for them and helping around the house, and pretty much ignoring Chris's irritation while his parents tried to ignore everything else. Buck rarely permitted a show of affection inside the Larabee family home either, which irritated Chris too, though he knew Buck never denied their relationship, not to anyone. We're being respectful, Buck would say, and slap his hands hard enough to sting if Chris tried to pull him into an embrace or cop a feel. "Wish it pissed you off more," Chris admitted. 

"You get plenty pissed for the pair of us." 

That was true enough. Chris tried not to hold it against his folks, but the fact that Buck treated him like they were kids in school ticked him off. Buck would always smack him or duck away, tap his watch and waggle his finger, and tell him to grow up. But as soon as they got back to their hotel, Buck was ready for anything and everything, wild, wanton, and just that bit more excited... 

"It turns you on, doesn't it?" Chris asked, realizing, or maybe just remembering what he kept forgetting. 

"What?"

"Being all prim and proper in my folks' place."

Buck grinned. "Guess so. They're funny." 

Funny. Chris was glad one of them could look at it that way. For him, it was a struggle to spend too much time back home. While his folks had always been big on planning and schedules, it had reached a new low after he'd told them about Buck. Trips and events in the elder Larabees' home were planned to within an inch of their lives, scheduled down to the minute. If they said they'd be leaving at 3 o'clock, Chris could bet money he'd hear his father rattling the keys at 2:57 p.m. Dinner was served at 6 p.m. sharp, breakfast at 7 a.m., and enough of the day planned with activities that Chris half-wondered if the folks weren't trying to tire them out in hopes there'd be no sex in the hotel room at the end of the day. It was like being back in boot camp.

"Think how surprised they'd be if we just showed up," he grinned around a spare rib.

Buck laughed in reply, long and low. "You trying to kill 'em? Or yourself, by surprising them?"

"Larabees are tougher than that," he chided. Still, he knew what Buck meant. Left on his own, he had some of his family's precision, some of that need for order. It had been an asset in the service, sometimes when they'd been cops, and a little tougher to deal with once they'd started taking on bonds when he had to adjust his schedule based on the ever-behind courts and their sureties' distorted sense of time and responsibility. Buck helped him out there, though. Never one for schedules, Chris knew Buck had only survived the military because he liked a challenge and for the most part really didn't mind other people telling him what to do. Buck tended to let things happen at their own pace, and didn't mind grabbing Chris's arm and dragging his heels until Chris tired a little. Not a bad match, Chris thought, scraping the last of the beans out of the container. "Come on," he said again, before they'd even gotten the garbage thrown away. "Bed."

"Raccoons," Buck countered. "Possums. Clean it up now or clean up worse later." 

Chris grinned, given that he'd just been thinking about which of them was the ordered one, and used napkins to wipe up minor spills on the sealed wood then rinsed away a coleslaw puddle with the last of his tea while Buck packed up their trash. But that was all he waited for. As soon as Buck's hands were free he grabbed him and guided him toward their bedroom. It didn't take much in the way of manhandling to get Buck down and half-stripped, and seeing him grin from atop the covers in tee shirt, briefs and a smile did a lot for Chris's anxiety. Knowing how much Buck appreciated gestures, he pulled a couple of pillar candles out of the top dresser drawer and dug around for matches, then lit them. 

Lighting candles would have embarrassed him had it been anyone else but Buck, or Sarah before him. This was the kind of thing that Buck did easily and often—candles, music, soft lights. "Moods." But Buck wasn't thinking about that, and Chris was in desperate need of a mood: of a little safety, togetherness, of feeling Buck against him warm and breathing and so richly alive.... When he turned, Buck's smile was softer, gentler, and Buck held an arm out for him. Chris heeled off his shoes and shucked off his jeans, then after the briefest hesitation, took off the rest of his clothes too and stretched out beside Buck. 

"You all right?" he breathed after a moment, as they made minor adjustments to find the perfect interlocking position.

"I'm great," Buck said. "Scared that we're gettin' old, going to bed at 5:30."

Chris snickered. "You can get up later. Work all you want after I fall asleep, how's that?"

"I'm gonna buy you a teddy bear," Buck teased, while Chris watched the candle flames flicker. 

"You need that much free time?" 

"No... no." A long sigh, and Chris pressed his ear against Buck's chest, listening to the hollow echo of air in his lungs and the reassuring beat of his heart, breathing deeply to take in the smell of the man.

Shadows moved along the wall. Buck shifted every couple of minutes, just to exchange a touch, or pull him an inch closer, or drop a hand to his head and stroke his hair. The touches, vague and inconsistent but so cherished, lulled him, and Chris felt all of the tension bleed away. Yeah, this was good. They shouldn't have gone in to work at all today—wouldn't have, except that the shooters in Wyoming had to be brought in and Vin needed them, and Chris couldn't get that feeling out of his gut any more than Buck seemed able to. 

"You okay now?" Buck whispered after a time. 

"Yeah."

"Good. Put out the candles 'fore you burn the house down."

Chris chuckled in spite of himself and slid out of bed, scratching an itch right at the small of his back. After he put out the candles and while he was up, he went to the john to piss, brushed his teeth, and frowned at himself in the mirror. He knew what he wanted now, what they'd both like, and his groin twitched as vague images danced through his head. They could take their time, make it last. He rinsed hands and mouth and went back to the bedroom, pausing at the door to look at Buck... who had rolled onto his belly and cuddled a pillow, and was sound asleep, snuffling lightly. Just for a second, he had a whole lot of empathy for Buck's often-thwarted libido. He grinned. After a good night's sleep, who knew how much better they'd be for each other? 

He eased the covers up and slid between the sheets, tugging a little to get closer to Buck who still slept atop them, lifted Buck's arm and tucked himself in close, and dropped off. 

Thursday, May 17

It had been a beautiful morning. They'd fallen asleep before dark and slept right through, and both of them had woken up just as the stars began to fade. Chris was in no mood to run, when they finally dragged themselves out of bed they'd walked around the near pasture together, checking the fence, getting their shoes and their pant legs soaked in the knee-high grass. 

Buck sighed, content; he loved being home, loved the damp, cool smell of the early morning air down here and the weight of Chris's hand tugging on his belt loop, and the soft breath of laughter he felt just before quick, stolen kisses. It was funny, really, that Chris was the one trying to work the kinks out of their rope while Buck was the one chomping at the bit to get back on the job. 

They went to Bob's Feed and Food to pick up some basics and made a huge, simple breakfast, then took the back roads down to Mountain Park. It was closer than he'd realized, and their meandering drive over the back roads went by quickly. 

Mountain Park was neither a mountain nor a park, but the Kennesaw foothills could fool a man, and the area was pretty enough. Most of the homes were older, some of them dating back to the 30s when the smaller state roads made this a long hike from Atlanta that only rich folks had the time and money to take. These days it was a full-fledged bedroom community, though it still felt like a weekend getaway for rich country folks. The roads wove and twisted around rises in the land, revealing houses and cabins and glimpses of the man-made lake that lay at the bottom of a shallow valley between three of the biggest hills.

It took them a few minutes at twenty-five miles an hour to find the late Jess Kincaid's property, and Buck nodded toward the line of police tape tied off on trees and across the drive. "Must be it," he said.

"Yep." 

Buck eased the car onto the shoulder, gritting his teeth as the undercarriage scraped a bit on the broken asphalt and the soft earth, but there was no choice if he wanted to leave room for someone to pass. 

Pines and hardwoods covered the property, but the pines were tall and bare at the bottom, the hardwoods still working on flushing out their full foliage for the coming summer. The closest house was across the road, peering down onto the front entryway of Kincaid's house and Buck made note of it, watching Chris scan the area too. They didn't disturb the tape, but Buck made sure he had his PI license handy, since the neighbors had been observant enough to call the police when Kincaid was killed. Alerted by gunfire, one witness had stated. Loud, sudden, repeated, enough to make them look out, and to dial 911.

The house wasn't that large for this area, the side facing the lake propped up on stilts that supported a wide, broad, screened-in porch. Rustic and probably one of the first homes built out here, it was in need of a little TLC. It looked like two or three bedrooms and a den, and there might be more rooms downstairs on the partially exposed basement level. Many of these houses really were weekend lake cabins, not big estates that a man like Kincaid could have afforded. The deck had an unobstructed view of the lake, the hills and big chunks of sky through the towering pines, and a stepped path banked with railroad ties led down to the water where Buck could just see the end of a small dock. 

"What are you looking for?" Chris asked him, voice soft, coming up behind him, stepping close enough that their bodies brushed at hip and shoulder.

"Not sure, really," Buck said. "Just that Whitney's no amateur and guns aren't his thing, really. If he hadn't got Vin's gun…what was he gonna do? What would he do?"

"Arson."

"Yeah," Buck said and his eye caught at where the long curve of a white tank was tucked up under the deck. "Propane." 

"Most of the houses out here are," Chris said looking around. The tanks were obvious when you looked for them. "Propane and septic." 

Buck didn't have to be an arsonist to recognize a prime flammable when he saw it. But according to Vin, Whitney was already inside when he arrived. Reaching the tank, Buck gave it a rap with his knuckles and got a hollow ring back. Careful not to touch the tank in any way that would taint the scene, he moved his hand down to the belly of the beast and tapped it again, with the same result. "He was selling this place…" he said half to himself.

"Drained the tank?" Chris asked, eyes alert and curious and he moved beyond Buck to where the fill valve was. "Fresh wrench marks here, but it could be from the propane company." 

Buck nodded and followed the connectors to the house lines and found a stick to prod with, scraping back some leaves, and uncovered a plastic cap, like the kind used to cover spliced wires. Biting his lip, he studied the small bit of plastic. It was dirty, but there was nothing embedded in its grooves; it hadn't been there too long. "We probably ought to call somebody," he said when Chris came up beside him. 

"Get 'em to see if the gas in the house is wide open," Chris said, hard, jumping ahead of him. "Whitney was going to blow the place."

"Damn," Buck said, and spared Chris a careful glance and a touch. There'd been too much fire in Chris's life lately, and Buck didn't want to set off his worries again. "Well he sure as hell didn't manage it," he said with a grin. 

Chris nodded, thoughtful. "They need to dust the tank, this cap, wires, connectors. If they find prints, I'd bet Whitney left them."

"Been a couple of weeks," Buck said. 

"Yeah but the tank's pretty protected and so are these lines." He frowned. "Whitney probably wore gloves. He's not a complete idiot or he'd be locked up somewhere. Still, it can't hurt to try."

Buck got up and fished around in his jacket pocket, pulling out the card the detective had given him yesterday. "You got your phone?"

"Where's yours?" Chris smirked even as he fished his own out. 

"Charging in the car. Give." Buck made the call and decided it must be quiet in the precinct office this morning, because the guy agreed to come right away. "We'll wait around then. Thanks." To Chris he added, "Come on, there's a park around here," and headed up the hill. 

"You miss this don't you?" Chris asked. "The investigation, crime scene breakdown."

"Some days," Buck admitted, leaning against the hood of his car. It was a nice area, quiet and kind of isolated, a little like the farm. Hard to tell that there was a major highway less than a mile away—the hills effectively blocked sound. "Some days I miss it, but not often," he added with a grin at Chris. "It's been a good deal. No regrets."

Being with Chris, working with Chris was the best thing that had ever happened to him, and always had been, but he wasn't dishonest or delusional enough to say that he didn't miss working with other people. That he didn't miss the day-to-day camaraderie of working on a squad, interacting with different agencies, seeing people and talking to them, being genuinely interested in their lives and their families. They got some of that when they weren't on the road all the time, working with the guys in the office and the law enforcement and legal people downtown, but it wasn't the same because there was no real routine and so often, they had to pick up and leave town for days or weeks. He supposed he missed the investigative process. Putting together the pieces as a bail enforcer was different than it had been as a detective, and somebody else figured out motive and method; they only had to make sure that the cops and the attorneys who put the cases together didn't lose their suspect. 

"You sure?" Chris asked, and Buck realized he'd settled in behind the wheel and started woolgathering. 

He took a quick peek around—looked quiet enough—and reached out, easing his hand around Chris's neck and leaning over for a brief, intense kiss. "Yeah," he said, meeting Chris's soft eyes. "I'm sure. Now come on, maybe there's ducks."

It was just a little community park but it had a rough gravel lot and Buck pulled in, scanning quickly and spotting a table right next to the water with a nice mix of sun and shade. Mallards and big white Easter ducks swam lazily on the still water, watching them with interest. No doubt the folks in the neighborhood kept them well stuffed with bits of bread and cracker. They didn't approach though, just kind of hovered on the water, waiting expectantly as Chris and Buck sat on the table, feet up on the bench. 

The ducks amused him, swimming along the bank in cautious anticipation. One small mallard stayed a little apart from the others and Buck wished he'd had something for it. "Sorry guys," he said, showing his empty hands. One of the white ducks honked at him, not at all happy.

"Know how he feels," Chris said idly, and when Buck turned to look, Chris was grinning evilly. 

"Yeah, right," he joked, and eased off the bench and closer to the water, reaching down to pick up a handful of river stones. Some of them were too round and heavy, but he got a good couple of skips from one and found a flatter rock to try again, his two skips beaten suddenly and precisely when Chris skimmed one of his own and made the major league bounce of four.

"Beginner's luck," Buck groused, and Chris grinned at him. 

"You say," he said and did it again. Three this time.

It was a silly competition but Buck could see all traces of tension bleed out of Chris, and the man was purely beautiful like that. Another five stones and they were about even on skip count. "Sudden death match," Chris challenged, laughter in his eyes and in his tone at the two of them behaving like schoolboys.

"You're on," Buck said, hunting for and finding the perfect flat stone, taking it for a low aim. He got four but the way he leaned tugged at his hurt shoulder and his follow-through gave it enough of a sting that he grunted and rose up to rub at his arm.

"What?" Chris said, and all that laughter was gone.

"Nothing. Your turn. Go on," Buck said. "Four or better."

Chris glared at him and tossed the stone without looking, where it sank with a plunk of sound. "You won. What did you do?" he asked, reaching for Buck's arm.

"It just pulled a little. Will you stop?" Buck said, annoyed more because he'd broken the mood than because his shoulder was burning. "It's fine."

"Let me see," Chris said and his tone was less sharp, more worried. 

"You put the bandage on it yourself not two hours ago," he tried.

But Chris's brows drew tight together and he repeated, "Let me see."

Buck shrugged off his jacket because Chris wouldn't let it alone and he'd nag and scowl until he could check it himself, and he'd get worse as the day wore on. 

He scowled anyway, pushing Buck's t-shirt up and carefully peeling back the bandage. Buck had to twist his neck and arm to see it, and the gauze showed a faint pinking from blood where the stitches had pulled a little. He'd bled more with a paper cut. He glared down, silently waving Chris off, but Chris missed it entirely. He was tracing the edges of the wound with a finger, his touch so gentle he could have been tending a scraped knee on Adam rather than his partner's stitches. 

"It's red," Chris said, touching it gently. Buck forced himself not to flinch.

"Chris…" This new compulsion was worth watching; whatever was driving him, it had nothing to do with what was underneath that bandage. "It's healing up fine," Buck tried tenderly, but Chris wasn't listening as he eased the gauze back into place, and the mood was lost.

"Yeah." Chris looked across the lake to Kincaid's place. "Where the hell are they?" 

Buck pulled his jacket back on and shook his head, but followed him and refused to surrender the keys. "I drove us here, didn't I?" he said and while Chris didn't argue, he settled into the passenger seat in stubborn, though not sullen, silence. 

A few minutes after they got back to the crime scene, the detectives arrived in an unmarked car. Chris stayed with the Mustang—rebelling, Buck thought—and Buck showed the pair around, pointing out the cap, the wiring, the tank, filling them in on his theory. "You get a team out here, you're probably gonna find evidence inside too, of open valves, stove burners on, that kind of thing. You might even get prints."

"Mr. Wilmington—"

"Call me Buck."

"Buck," the guy said after a pause, "do you want to tell us what we're really doing out here? We've got our suspect."

"You've got a suspect," he corrected. "We're pretty sure it's the wrong one." 

"Gun, bullets, fingerprints, blood matches, witnesses seeing him leave the house," the guy ticked off on his fingers. "What the hell do you need, a signed confession?"

Buck glanced back toward the car, glad that Chris had stayed there. "Nah," he grinned, "I get your point. Y'all did a good job, and you're right; Tanner looks perfect to have done the crime. It's just that the skip he was after has an arson background, and a beef with Tanner, and we're getting enough puzzle pieces to think maybe he's associated with a little murder for hire. Soon as I find out anything concrete, I'll let y'all know. But for now, well, maybe it'll save you both some time down the road, and keep you out of a courthouse."

The pair made eye contact for a second, and Buck waited patiently. The second-to-last thing in the world a detective wanted to do was take the witness stand in a case that went south. The last thing a detective wanted to do was lose a collar because of too little background work.

"How reliable is this information?" the lead detective asked, and Buck wondered how, or if, to explain it: well you see, I like the guy, and....

Nah. Too much trouble. Better to stick with something simple. 

A bit later, Chris rolled his head against the back of the seat when Buck got into the car. "Well?"

"They're calling out a crime scene investigation unit. They're gonna dust. They took some pictures. Looks good."

"Good." Chris slumped a little lower in the seat, obviously still stubbornly moody. "Let's get a move on."

"Don't know what the hurry is," Buck tried mildly. "Soon as we get in, we're going to have to listen to Whitney or help Josiah and Nathan with the caseload."

"You scared of a little honest work?"

Buck pursed his lips and sighed. Nothing would please Chris more than for him to snap back, "Hey, I got shot you know," because then Chris would hustle him back home and handcuff him to something and not let him move without supervision. How long, he wondered, before Chris snapped out of it? It was anybody's guess. 

He wasn't about to give Chris a reason, so instead of replying at all he hit the speed dial for JD's cell. JD would be up, but if they hadn't gotten the morning flight out of Riverton, then this call had the added bonus of being just about guaranteed to wake up Ezra. 

"Hey, Buck."

"Hiya, kid. How's it going back there?"

"Nobody told me it would be cold!" JD groused, which hit Buck funnier than it ought to. 

"You didn't check the weather forecast before you left? Tap into NOAA or NORAD or Jesus's mainline and get the scoop?"

"I—" the briefest of hesitations, "I forgot." 

Buck chuckled, but let it pass. "You had plenty on your mind. You meet the bad guys yet?"

"Yeah. Ezra identified 'em like he'd seen them from the mountain, and..." JD's voice lowered conspiratorially, "he couldn't have, right, Buck? He's just greasing the wheels?"

Lubricating the engine of justice, Ezra liked to call it. "Tell him to watch his mouth," he warned. "No shit, kid, they want testimony from Chris and me, and whatever he does back there could go south on him, you hear me?"

"Why are you telling me? I didn't lie to anybody."

Because you won't hang up the phone on me, Buck thought, grinning again. "Because he's likely past all learning, kid. You on the other hand, I have hope for, if I can keep you in one piece long enough."

"Funny." JD yawned. "We're at the jail right now. Marshal Glenn's got paperwork from Atlanta; how'd you all get permission for us to bring them all home?" 

Damn, somebody was working fast. "I'll tell you when you get here," he said, neatly sidestepping his ignorance. "You mind Ez now. Don't get between him and the bad guys, keep your lines of fire clear, keep them in leg irons. If they ask to piss, what do you do?"

"Offer 'em a Big Gulp cup," JD retorted dryly. Well. Maybe he was drilling the kid a little too hard. "We'll be in an airplane, for Pete's sake."

"Yeah," Buck went on, "you and two hundred strangers who just want to get to their jobs or back to their families. You make a mistake, it could cost them, you, who knows?"

He could practically hear JD straightening up. "I'm okay." Then more quietly, "Ez's in good with the marshals here, they're gonna escort us onto the plane and get the guys all locked down, then make sure TSA in Denver meets us. We got an escort between planes, and I'm gonna call the office as soon as the flight from Denver pulls away from the gate. Okay?"

Longsuffering, hopeful, anxious—poor kid. There was a hell of a lot to learn when you didn't come at this work from a law enforcement background. "Sounds good. Sounds real good. I'll see you tonight." 

"Okay. Yeah."

Buck rang off and glanced over at Chris. "You know who pulled enough strings to get all four of the shooters brought here, instead of kept in Wyoming or sent back to Texas?" he asked. Chris looked surprised, but shook his head. "You have Charlene Cruz's number on you?"

"She'll probably be presenting to a grand jury."

"It's Friday," Buck pointed out. "No sessions on Friday."

"It's Thursday," Chris frowned, but he leaned forward to dig out his wallet and pass along a business card without a word, and Buck dialed while steering with his knee. He got a voicemail for his troubles, left a friendly message and his phone number, and hung up. 

"Told you she'd be out," Chris said, still trying to pick an argument.

"You told me she'd be in a grand jury," he said, ignoring the fact that he'd forgotten which day of the week it was. "You don't know where she is." He heard Chris's hard exhale, and glanced over to catch him staring out the passenger window again. Stubborn, mule-headed... Buck dropped his hand onto Chris's thigh and squeezed gently. "Come on now, don't be like that."

"I'm not—"

"I mean it." He took his eyes off the road for a second. "C'mon, Chris. You want to look at my arm again when we get to work? We can send Eli Joe to the Y with Josiah and Nathan and let him get showered; he's probably stinking up the place. And then you can look at it again. You can even take me to the ER just as long as you're the one tells 'em why you did it, because I sure as hell don't know. Just—calm down."

After another hard exhale, Buck could see some of the tension ebb from Chris's shoulders, and Chris grabbed his hand up, threading their fingers together. Buck squeezed, trying to reassure. "That's better."

"Asshole."

"Old man." 

"Dickless."

"Absolutely no taste...."

"Why else would I pick you?"

They were snickering by the time they reached the exit, and even when he had to shift down, Chris wouldn't let go of his hand. That fire out on the mountain had hit Chris hard, scared the shit out of him, and maybe he was just having flashbacks. Of all the turmoil in Chris's life, the fire that had taken Sarah and Adam had been the most traumatic, no doubt about it. Chris just needed a little more time. 

W&L • W&L • W&L 

Answering emails and trying to pick up the slack with both JD and Ezra gone was no small operation. Buck dropped into JD's desk and powered up the scheduling program, trying to decide where to jump in. Chris had settled in at their desk and done the same, and it was pleasant to hear the murmur of their voices, Nathan's occasionally raised when his charges got mouthy with him, Chris's occasionally lowered and cold for the same reason. 

Buck got lost in the rhythm of it until his phone chirped in his pocket and he checked the number. "Hey, JD."

"Hey, Buck." JD sounded tired, and a little annoyed. 

Buck stood up straighter. "Kid? You okay?"

"Yeah. But we won't be home 'til really late."

"Why the hell not?" Buck sputtered, then reined it in until he knew the facts. "Something wrong?"

"No. Ezra just wanted the free round trip tickets."

"What?"

JD's sigh was long and heartfelt. "The flight was way overbooked. Ezra checked with the TSA cops and they said they'd help with lockup, so Ezra took the bump for all six of us and pocketed six free domestic round trip vouchers. We don't leave until 10."

Buck could actually picture that. "Tell him he just wasted his time, because he's not keeping those tickets," he said brusquely. "And tell him to expect to hear from me and that his phone better not be turned off."

"Yeah, Buck," JD said, and he sounded a little better. "I will." 

"Remember what I said about the Big Gulps."

JD laughed a little, and that was enough for Buck. He hung up and fumed in Chris's direction. "Delay in Denver. They're coming in on a later flight, it leaves at 10 o'clock."

"I'm on my way to see Cruz, I'll let her know and have them call JD with names. What happened?" Chris asked. 

Buck repressed a sigh. Some days, Ezra wasn't worth the money he made them. "You don't wanna know." 

Chris didn't press further. If Buck said that, he probably didn't want to know—and Buck would tell him eventually, anyway. Now that his concentration was broken he wondered about calling Charlene Cruz, wondered if a deposition behind him was better than one looming out in front of him, and decided he'd rather get it the hell over with. 

He blew out a breath and made the call, and damned if she didn't have time at 2:00. Waiting until Buck was engrossed on the phone he slipped out of the office, resenting the time away from work and resenting more the fact that he didn't have any information that would actually help. After he passed through the metal detectors and signed in, he took the elevator up to twelve and paused at the next mantrap, pressed his driver's license against the glass, and waited to be buzzed in. Charlene Cruz came out to meet him. 

Her smile was warm, and Chris could imagine how many judges and juries she'd scored points with just for that. She kept it professional though, offering her hand to shake, but she held his a little longer than was strictly necessary. "I appreciate this, Chris." 

He resisted the urge to say, "Let's get this over with," said "Thanks" instead. He followed her through the maze of half walls and glass to an office with a window and comfortable chairs around a glossy conference table that already had a briefcase on it. There was a small desk and wheeled chair set to the side with a block mount for a stenotype machine. 

"Can I get you anything? Coffee, a coke?" she asked.

"Yeah. Pepsi if you've got one," he said and settled in. This was a vast improvement over the room they'd seen Vin in—it even had art on the walls, something that looked like a horse race or a hunt. 

She got him what he asked for and coffee for herself. "Jim will be along in a minute," she said, opening her briefcase and pulling out thick files.

"Someone's been busy," he commented, looking at the files but not really trying too hard. They were like police files, with dates and case numbers on the labels anyway. There wasn't anything useful to him there. 

She smiled. "Not so much. Background checks, reports—probably not a whole lot different than what you've got. Had you ever met Tanner before? Before Orrin called you to go after him?"

"No. Heard his name, knew something about his reputation."

She nodded. "You're not swearing to anything yet, Chris. Just making conversation."

"Fine." He wasn't much for conversation and wanted this over with. After a couple more attempts, mostly questions about what had happened to Buck that made Chris think again about that damned fire burning up the cabin, she gave up. 

"This case is a pretty messy one. It's likely to get high profile before it's over. The press is already sniffing."

That wasn't necessarily a good thing for Vin. "I haven't seen any of it on the news," he said, which was true, but maybe that was because he hadn't been home long enough in the last couple of months to read a paper. 

"Not so far. I'll give DA Hunter credit for that much. She shut this down almost immediately—and the Fulton County sheriff didn't complain since Tanner got away from his people so easily," she said and glanced up and smiled. "I suppose he's as happy as she is not to talk about it. Oh—here come Jim and Vicki—Jim Palminteri, the lead on this case. Vicki Cooper is the court recorder. It's pretty straightforward, Chris. We want to hear the whole story, then we'll ask some questions, then we'll be done for now. Vicki will get it transcribed and we'll get you to sign it," she said, and straightened up, a whole different kind of smile on her face.

Chris got to his feet when Vicki entered. She was tiny and plump and bottle-blonde. She looked to be in her mid forties. "Ms. Cooper," he said and offered his hand. 

She looked startled but smiled after a moment and took it, her handshake lacking Charlene's firmness. 

"Mr. Larabee, I'm Jim Palminteri," the man behind her said and Vicki moved out of the way quickly to get set up. "US Attorney." As if Chris didn't know both who and what he was. His handshake was strong but brief. He had the slicked up look of a New York shyster and his accent surely didn't put him below the Mason Dixon line. He was good looking and probably past forty by the very subtle touch of grey in his hair, but he met Chris's gaze directly and the smile on his face was practiced and easy. 

"Hi," Chris said easily. 

Palminteri gestured for him to sit and then took a chair next to Charlene. He checked to make sure Vicki was ready then read a short statement from his notes that identified the case, who was present, asked Chris if he understood perjury and its associated penalties, then leaned back in his chair. "So, Mr. Larabee—"

"Just Chris." 

"All right," Palminteri said stiffly, and Chris thought maybe he'd misjudged and pissed the man off for interrupting. "Chris…why don't you start from when you received the call from Orrin Travis concerning the fugitive," he said.

Chris took a sip of his Pepsi and then leaned forward, sticking to the facts and being as complete as he could. Both Palminteri and Charlene took notes, but rarely interrupted him, even to clarify. It took him a good deal longer than he expected, even without embellishment—and he sure as hell wasn't going to offer up his own opinioins. He made only cursory comment about a fire that had eaten up a house he'd thought Buck was in, trying not to think about what it had felt like, watching those flames lick at the trees. He paid special attention to his testimony on Whitney, what exactly the man had said, not leaving out the part where he'd handcuffed the guy to a truck bumper in clear view of whoever was carrying rifles up in the trees. 

How much of it they already knew, he couldn't be sure. Tom Glenn had been there, and others. He finished up with them turning Vin over to the jail downtown and then sat back, only then noticing how tense he'd gotten. Hell, he was getting as bad as Buck, all wound up over Vin for no reason he could put his finger on. 

Palminteri started in first. "You said Mr. Travis called you at your home on the morning of May 5?"

"Yeah."

"Uh huh. And Mr. … Buck Wilmington?" He frowned at the page. "When did he learn of it?"

Chris looked at Charlene. "Is he kidding?"

"Jim..." Charlene's tone was careful, and Palminteri stared from her to Chris and back a couple of times before the light clicked on. 

"Oh... oh. So he was in his home as well?"

Chris frowned again and glanced at the court reporter. "Yeah, he was in his home as well," he repeated. Prick.

Palminteri wrote something on his legal pad and spun it around: "sorry," it said. Chris nodded, reserving judgment. "So you and Mr. Wilmington captured and returned Tanner in ten days. That's very impressive." 

"Along with Ezra Standish, one of our people. And not really, no," he said. 

"Excuse me?"

"Impressive," Chris said. "It was a clusterfuck out there." 

Palminteri blinked. Chris was ready to get up and walk out, only just now realizing how angry he was, how pissed he'd been at Vin for the chokehold on Buck, for giving them the slip at the motel, how helpless he'd been to do anything for Buck, for Ezra—he sucked down a deep breath and let it out, refusing to let his hands fidget or move. "What else?" he asked. 

They looked at each other, so he decided to ask some questions of his own. "How did James find out what Kincaid was doing back here?" 

Palminteri tossed his pen onto the desk. "Rest assured, Mr. Larabee, we're working very hard to determine that."

His cell rang before he could reply: Travis. "I need to take this." He pushed his chair back and answered, "Larabee." 

But it wasn't Travis, it was Casey Wells. "Mr. Larabee?" How could a kid that young sound excited about telephone work? It was beyond him. "Mr. Travis asked me to call you, and your office said it was okay to use your cell…"

"Yeah, it's fine," he said, tempering the annoyance from his voice. "What do you need?"

"We're filing the paper work on Mr. Tanner—Mr. Travis says you need to fax over a letter of assurance today if you can."

"Okay. When's the court date?" He listened to papers rustling, almost smiling at the picture of her: pigtails, for God's sake. While she carried herself well on the phone, in person she looked about fourteen years old. 

"Friday. Looks like we'll hit in the afternoon sometime. Mr. Travis will know when it's locked." 

That was news he looked forward to giving Buck. Tomorrow Vin could be out of jail. "Thanks. Need anything else?" he asked, glancing once to Charlene and Palminteri, where they ducked their heads together and whispered, and where he was positive Palminteri was trying to listen in on his phone call. 

"No, that's it. Thanks." He rang off and turned his attention back to the lawyers. 

"Good news?" Palminteri asked. 

"Maybe," Chris said, giving him nothing. "Are we done here?" 

"I'd just like—" "Sure, Chris—" they talked over each other, and he waited to see who would give way. 

"Do you know the whereabouts of Mr. Elijah Whitney?" Palminteri asked. 

Elijah? "My people are on him," he said smoothly. "If we're lucky we'll have him in lockup somewhere by Monday. He has an outstanding warrant for arson in Oklahoma." 

"On him?" Palminteri pressed. 

"That's what we do," Chris said testily. "We get on people. We bring them in. We cash the checks. Anything else?" 

Palminteri wasn't intimidated, but he didn't press further either. "Not at this time." 

It wasn't quite four o'clock when Chris phoned the jail to see if he could get a meet with Vin outside normal visiting hours. Because Buck had made nice, and because they'd both been cops, the guy—Hal—made the exception. "I'll be there by five past, all right?" he promised. Shifts changed between 4:30 and 5:00 and nobody would want to wait around for him.

Instead of being escorted to a visiting room, a CO came up front and offered to walk Chris back to the infirmary. When he got there, Chris almost wished he hadn't; the stink of unwashed bodies hit him first, and that dentist's office smell of too much antiseptic. Vin was dozing in an old metal bed, his legs shackled to the foot rails. "Is that really necessary?" Chris asked, pointing to the chains.

"Procedure," the guard shrugged. "They frisk you when you came in?"

"No."

"Well..." he looked indecisive, like he might want to do it himself, but in the end he shrugged and said, "Don't give him anything."

"Don't worry." Chris edged up to the bed and stared down for a second, just watching Vin sleep. Hesitating, Chris reached out and touched his arm. "Vin?"

Vin jerked like he'd been shot, but settled down just as quick. "Chris?" he mumbled, then coughed to clear his throat. "What're you doing here?"

"Special permission," Chris said quietly. He rested both his hands on the rail to Vin's hospital bed, in clear view. "You all right?"

"Bad dream," Vin said, the flush still high on his cheeks. "I'm all right." 

"You're better'n all right, really," Chris said, thinking about what Orrin had told him. "Don't know if the news was worth me comin' back here—it won't help you today—but I figured I could use the walk," he grinned. 

Vin still looked a little muzzy. "Where's Buck?" 

"At our office. I talked to Travis and he's pretty sure we're going to get a judge he's got some pull with. Bail hearing's set for tomorrow afternoon, so you've probably got—" he checked his watch, "less'n a day left in here. Oh, yeah—Buck talked to Chanu and Claire today, and he says neither one of 'em sounds pissed at you."

"Could Buck tell?" Vin asked with a faint grin, the flush fading now, "or does he just think everybody likes him?"

Chris smiled at that, but shook his head. "He was on the phone with her for awhile. Says you don't know shit about pronouncing their kids' names, because she had to correct him." He waited out Vin's little chuckle, glad the news could cheer him up. "We'll be at the courtroom for your hearing."

"Y'all don't have to do that."

"You're right," he said bluntly. "But we will, and we'd be there even if Orrin hadn't asked us to." He couldn't quite understand it; with Vin the words came easy, if lightly. Comfortable, like they'd been casual friends for a while but trusted each other better than that. Still, he and Vin seemed to do better when they weren't talking. He tried that now, just staring at the man, and Vin settled almost immediately. Chris was happier with that, because words weren't his strong suit anyway. 

"Thanks," Vin said easily. 

"Sure." There wasn't much more to say. "Guess we'll see you tomorrow, then."

"Yeah. Tell Buck thanks, too."

"You bet," he said, and turned to go. 

When he got back to their office he found Buck on the phone at Ezra's desk. Buck liked Ezra's damned desk so much Chris wondered why they didn't roust Ez and carve out a corner for him by the filing cabinets, but the truth was, this office was just barely big enough for all of them. He didn't want to look for new space, didn't want to pack up and move their things, and didn't want to use up any of that reward, if they got it, on higher rents. He and Buck weren't in the office often enough to need the extra space anyway, so they'd keep making do. 

"Hey," he greeted, closing the door behind him.

Buck nodded, finished his phone call, and stood up to stretch. "Vin okay?"

"Yeah. They let me into the infirmary. Guess that's better than dragging him up to the visiting rooms all the time."

"How'd he look?"

"Better than he did last time we saw him." He and Buck had known each other so long and so well that Chris didn't wait for the questions. "His hearing's scheduled for four o'clock tomorrow afternoon. Yeah I told him and yeah, I told him about Claire and Chanu Reeves, and the thing about the kids' names. How about you?"

"I'll be glad when Ez and JD get back," he said, heartfelt. "I need a break."

"Not much longer," Chris said. 

"Yeah... about that," Buck started, and Chris groaned.

"Don't tell me. Not now, anyway," he muttered, pinching at the bridge of his nose. "Anything to do here?"

"Plenty," Nathan groused, but when Chris turned to look he waved a dismissive hand. "Nothing we can't do tomorrow. Only ten of our clients have court dates tomorrow, and I've talked to every one of them. Few forfeiture dates next week, but Ezra says he knows where they are. Tomorrow we just have some folks to track down because they gave us bad addresses, and more of the same."

Thank God, Chris thought. "Okay. We're gonna take off then. Don't work too late."

"Don't worry," Nathan shot back, grinning. "Raine and I are going to the Civic Center tonight; they're performing Fidelio.

Chris barely resisted rolling his eyes. Nathan, for all his common sense, pissed away money on things Chris had never understood. He was, in his way, almost as bad as Ezra, though Chris understood Nathan a little better because most of the time he spent his money on things his wife liked. "We're going home then," he said, gathering Buck up with a look. "You ready?" 

"Yep."

Chris didn't feel the least bit guilty leaving the rest of the work to Josiah and Nathan. He was still too tired to care overmuch. "What the hell did Ezra do?" he griped just as soon as they were in the car.

"Took a bump for six round trip domestic tickets," Buck admitted. 

"I'm gonna fucking kill him," Chris growled, half meaning it.

"I got him one better," Buck said with a chuckle. "Told him he didn't get to keep any of the tickets, and we were docking him a day for getting back home late." 

Chris laughed at that. It was better than smacking Standish around, really. "Good. We need to go to the grocery store," he commented idly, not wanting to do it.

"Yeah," Buck said, like he was being led to a firing squad. Chris had never fathomed why Buck hated grocery shopping, given how many people he flirted with on every aisle. 

"I'm not eating out of a fast food bag tonight," he warned, and Buck nodded. 

"You willing to grill us some steaks?"

Chris grinned. "Maybe." 

At the grocery store, they divided up the work. Buck headed for vegetables and packaged goods while Chris picked up steaks, some hamburger, chicken on sale, milk, bread, eggs. They wouldn't have to worry for a few days, not even with how Buck shoveled it away. 

The ride home from the grocery store was quiet, peaceful. And while Chris didn't love how Buck favored his arm, he felt saner about it tonight. Calmer. Buck was all right; he'd told himself that plenty of times today. Buck was all right and didn't appreciate fussing—not that kind of fussing, anyway. 

Vin had looked good and would probably be out of jail tomorrow, if not out of the woods. Ezra and JD would be home soon enough, and he and Buck had just scored six free round trip tickets that Buck would refuse to let him use for work. Everything was going to be fine.

Buck slid the Mustang in next to the Camaro in the carport and they tromped through the mud porch loaded with grocery bags, working easily around each other in the kitchen. Bags and bags of food slowly disappeared, but Buck took a break half way through, grabbing a Michelob Light and settling in at the built-in kitchen table. 

"You injure something you haven't told me about?" Chris groused good-naturedly.

"Nope. Just like watching you do housework."

The sentiment was sincere, and Chris flushed a little but kept putting food away. Buck really did like watching him do little things—vacuuming, cooking, sorting through laundry that would have been all over the place if Buck had been the one responsible for it. It was one of those "Buck" things that Chris had never questioned. He reckoned that sometime after dinner, after Buck had watched him cook and set the table, and Buck had washed the dishes and put leftovers away, they'd get up to a little of the other kind of domesticity, and that suited Chris just fine. 

"You hungry?" Chris asked as he put the last box in the cabinet. 

"Not yet. You thirsty?"

Chris grinned. "What have you got in mind?"

Buck got to his feet and heeled off his shoes then shrugged off his shirt. Seeing Buck standing there barefoot and bare-chested, Chris wondered if that other domesticity wasn't about to start a little early. But Buck only said, "Come on," grabbing another beer from the fridge and snagging Chris's hand. "Take your shoes off," he said, pausing at the door.

Chris raised an eyebrow but did as he was told, and they headed out on the deck. 

Facing south, it got sun almost all day and the worn boards were warm under bare feet, that same heat releasing scents and aromas from dogwoods and pine that perfumed the whole area. Buck took the two steps in one and wriggled his toes in the grass, never letting go of Chris's hand. After a second he started dragging Chris along to the pecan trees and the hammock hung between them, and Chris had to smile. He wouldn't have thought of it himself—he rarely did—but it was just what the doctor ordered. He had to shake it out to get rid of fallen leaves, but it was dry and he ushered Buck in first, then set their beers down and joined him. The two of them made it sink dangerously, but it was wide and sturdy and had supported them many times before. From the angle of the hammock, you couldn't see anything but trees and sky unless you twisted your neck or sat up. Chris had to do both to reclaim their beers, but after they'd gotten the bottles and themselves situated, they just lay there, relaxing as the shadows stretched. A pair of red-tail hawks circled overhead, one of them dropping fast and low while the other circled. A nesting pair, Chris thought, and tucked his hand a little tighter around Buck's waist, tracing his fingers along the line between denim and warm skin. 

Beside him, Buck's eyes were closed, the half-empty beer tilting dangerously on his bare chest. He could have been asleep, his breath shallow and regular, but for the only other movement, the small incremental rub of his finger along Chris's thigh. It was hardly a caress at all, just a touch. And it was enough, after a while, to warm his skin better than the sun would have. It made him think about things they couldn't pull off in the hammock, things not suited for before dinner if they actually planned on eating... easing an arm down, he grabbed up Buck's hand to stop him doing that.

"What?" Buck asked after a moment.

"Nothing," Chris replied. He didn't want to get up yet, didn't want to disturb this quiet, even for the promise of sex. 

Buck's low chuckle let Chris know he knew exactly what was going on, and why, but Buck stopped the touching anyway, which satisfied Chris well enough. 

The sun was going low before he stretched and shifted, tipping the hammock dangerously. 

"We going in?" Buck asked, offering heavy resistance to Chris's tugging arm. 

"Yep. Dinner, then you." 

Buck hurried up after that. 

Friday, May 18Chris woke after it was getting light but before the sun was actually up, dreaming about the distant sound of cars. He wriggled, finding a more comfortable place for his groin against the sheets, made a half-asleep, half-dreaming reach for the most comfortable place for his groin—and came up with cold pillows. 

"Buck?" He sat up, coming awake fast, because Buck didn't like early without good reason, and the sheets didn't get cold in the time it took to piss, or check on a noise, or get a midnight snack. The sound of cars on a highway that he'd thought was a dream resolved itself then: Buck's Mustang idling over the drive, gravel crunching under its tires. The sound was getting louder, and Chris pushed up further, settling with his elbows behind him and peering muzzily at the clock. Where the hell had—oh. Ezra had a lot to answer for, in Chris's disgruntled opinion. 

He half-sat up and struggled to greater wakefulness, sighing softly at the weary, used feeling in his belly and thighs and hoping Buck had been comfortable enough in his long drive to the airport. Chris had gotten a little carried away, a little intense, and while Buck swore he thrived on it, he didn't end up on the bottom too often and was known to walk a little bow-legged after such nights. Well, turnabout would be fair play, Chris figured, and felt the twinge in his groin as his dick perked up to the thought. 

Damn. He needed vacations more often... not that he'd tell Buck that; half the time, the thing that kept him going on a job was Buck bitching that they needed a break and Chris's own determination to prove his partner wrong. 

The car engine subsided and gravel kept crunching as Buck coasted up to the house—out front, Chris guessed, in an effort not to wake him. He turned on the little bedside light so Buck would have something to see by. 

"JD have nightmares?" he asked when Buck slipped into their bedroom, not completely joking. It irritated him some, how much Buck cajoled JD, how much JD depended on Buck. It was nobody's fault, he knew; Buck liked to help people and had taken a shine to JD the day they'd met.

"Yeah—Ezra," Buck shot back, sounding tired. 

Man had a point. "Everybody get in okay?" 

"Yep. And we've got a big down payment on our next vacation."

"Wha—" he started to ask as Buck pulled a stack of manually written airline vouchers from his jacket pocket and fanned them out like a hand of cards. "We oughtta give one to everybody except Ezra."

"There's an idea," Buck agreed, stripping down fast and sliding back under the sheets. 

Chris watched him move, saw the telltale signs of stiffness in legs, lower back... "I get carried away?" he asked, half-solicitous. 

"Yep," Buck grinned, smiling widely and reaching for Chris's crotch. "Let's do it again."

"What?" Chris asked, not quite surprised. It had been a long while since they'd made even this much time for each other.

"You know what they say," Buck said, grabbing him then rolling onto his back, "when you get a little banged up, you've just gotta get back on the horse." Buck whinnied against his neck, sending Chris into that state of deep uncertainty where he didn't know whether to whap Buck hard for his idiocy, or fuck him through the mattress. It occurred to him that usually, it was the mattress that bore the brunt of that dilemma. 

The mattress paid this time too, though Chris did manage to coax Buck to get on top.  
Much later, Buck said, "We've gotta get up." Then, not two minutes later he mumbled again, "We've gotta get up," but again the mattress didn't move. Chris cracked an eye open to look at him, wondering how serious Buck was. Not very, by the look of it. The sweat had dried off his back and shoulders, leaving the skin looking powdery and lax. If Chris hadn't just heard him speak, he'd be tempted to check for a pulse. 

"Yeah," he muttered, knowing that silence would just catch Buck's attention, maybe inspire him to move.

Another minute passed in perfect peace, and Buck mumbled, "'M not kidding."

"Mmm hmm." He was pretty sure he'd fallen asleep by the time the bed shifted, just enough. He opened one eye again to watch Buck's paralytic wriggling atop the covers. Another twitch, another inchworm-like shudder, and finally Buck flopped over and then rolled off the bed, catching himself on his feet at the last minute. 

"Go put the coffee on," Buck ordered from his upright and, probably to his mind, superior position. 

"Mmm hmm," Chris said again, and waited until Buck walked into the bathroom to bury his face back in the pillow. 

It was amazing sometimes, what could drive a man. Chris glanced at the clock as he made it to Mr. Coffee, scowling at the early hour but reaching for the phone, letting Ezra's line ring until the answering machine picked up, hanging up, and calling again. As soon as the machine stopped picking up, signaling that Ezra had unplugged his phone, Chris switched to the cell number and repeated as necessary. 

"What!" Ezra all but snarled three tries later. 

"Don't ever do that again, Ezra, not while you've got JD with you."

"You have nothing to complain about, Chris," Ezra hissed, as grumpy and aggressive as a stepped-on rattler. "You're the one who profited from my efforts."

"I mean it, Ezra. The kid's trying to learn this job, God help him, and when you take him out with you I don't want you pulling stupid shit like hanging around an airport for seven hours with four men in custody. Are you clear?"

After a long pause in which Chris could tell Ezra was counting off the seconds just to irritate, Ezra said, "Crystal. I'm going back to sleep now."

"No, you're getting your lazy ass into the office and taking your caseload back from Josiah and Nate."

"I will not!"

"Suit yourself," Chris continued mildly, "but if you aren't there when I am, I'm giving them the proceeds from every one of your people they've been working on."

"You wouldn't." 

Chris chuckled. "Hell, Ezra, you know me better'n that." He sobered. "Never again. Not with JD."

A long sigh echoed down the line, followed by a snide, "You're getting as bad as Buck, do you know that?" 

Chris didn't deny it. JD was young, and green, and the closest thing to a kid brother Buck would ever have, and he deserved better from Ezra when they were on the road. "Whatever."

"It's not like I abandoned him, for God's sake!" Ezra finally spluttered. Chris had been waiting for it, sure that Ezra thought his choices were entirely justified by the profit. "Seven hours for roughly four thousand dollars in free travel? You'd have done the same if you'd been there."

Chris wouldn't have and they both knew it, but that had nothing to do with the money and everything to do with how much Chris detested waiting in airports. "Makes no never mind what I'd do alone, or what you'd do out on your own. You know we agreed on this, no fucking around when JD's along. If he's really gonna learn, he needs to learn right. What if he decides to take a bump some other time, without support? What if he loses a skip or gets himself hurt?"

"He wouldn't—"

Chris cut in, running a hand through his hair, "You know he would. He looks up to you, to all of us. Now get your ass into the office and shut up about it."

He waited. Waited some more. He was just about to hang up when Ezra sighed. "All right, all right. I'll be there. But I won't be happy about it," he warned.

"Don't worry, nobody expects you to," Chris said with a grin. "See you in an hour." 

It would take longer than that for Chris and Buck to get dressed and get in, but Ezra didn't need to know that. 

When they made it into the office around 10:30, Ezra was at his desk, headset on, laptop plugged in, talking a mile a minute. And while Chris wasn't sure whether the conversation was work or play, he eased up beside Ezra's desk and slid open the top drawer, dropping two of the flight vouchers into it before JD showed up. 

"Thank you," Ezra said into the phone, but he was looking at Chris. 

"Good work," Chris said, low, and went on to claim their desk while Buck was distracted with Whitney. 

W&L • W&L • W&L 

At the bathroom door, Buck made a noise and wrinkled up his nose. "Josiah, do we need to take Eee-lie out back and hose him down? He's getting riper than old cheese in there."

Josiah stretched briefly, and looked toward the bathroom himself. "If Nathan wouldn't mind giving me a hand, I can take Mr. Whitney to my apartment, give him a chance to get a shower." 

Buck glared harder. "Not sure he deserves a real shower."

Josiah shrugged. "We don't want to turn him over to the police banged up and stinking, anyway, and if your man gets his bail set, we'll turn Whitney over tonight, right?"

Chris hung up the phone and eased over against the wall, not so sure he wanted Whitney out of his sight and damned sure the man would make a break for it, or try. "I don't care what the cops say," he threw in, but Josiah turned his way.

"If you're called to testify, his arrest report'll come up. Let him have a bath, Chris." 

Chris nodded, chewing on his lip before surrendering to reason. "Yeah. Keep him chained to something at all times. No kitchen, and stay with him in the john—"

"I have done this before," Josiah said mildly, and Chris stiffened, annoyed. Josiah had been a correctional officer before he'd decided that the COs were in jail just like the prisoners. Buck was right; he was still overreacting to everything. 

"JD, I'll call you when I get to my apartment, let you listen in case there's any trouble." 

"I'll fetch him for you," Buck offered, and the grin on his face forewarned Chris before anything else did; he moved around a little to get a better view.

Buck hauled Whitney up a little roughly; not enough to hurt him, just playing his larger bulk and strength against Whitney's skinny frame because he could. Chris watched him, fighting back his smile. Most people wouldn't guess, but Buck could be a damned good bully when the mood took him. Fewer would guess that Chris liked to watch him do it.

But Whitney still had spunk enough to be mouthy—or maybe he got mouthier when he was scared. He'd certainly been mouthy enough when his buddies had been shooting at him, Chris recalled. 

"What's your problem, Wilmington? I ain't done nothing to you!" he said, trying to pull free, but Buck had him up on tiptoes.

"Nothing? You damn near got me killed, boy!" Buck said, giving him a little shake. 

"I didn't do shit to you! That was those other guys."

"Those other guys you led to Tanner's place?" Buck grinned. "You ain't helpin' yourself there, Eee-Lie." Buck let him go abruptly and Eli Joe staggered and stumbled, then sat down, hard, on the toilet seat. Buck knelt down to unlock the cuffs, only to haul him up again. "You ain't excited to be checking out of these here accommocations?" Buck asked, dragging him out the bathroom door. 

"Let me the hell go!" Eli Joe snapped, lurching forward, only to come up short when Nathan rose up from his chair to meet him.

Buck stepped back when Nathan stepped in, tossing the cuffs his way. Chris kept his eyes on Buck, seeing satisfaction flash over his face. 

"You done with him?" Nathan asked, expertly flipping Eli Joe around and cuffing him behind his back. "Got a LaMaze class I'd like to make at lunch," he said as he opened a file drawer and pulled out ankle chains. 

"Yeah," Chris said, after a moment, when Buck didn't say anything, wasn't even looking at Whitney. 

Josiah picked up his keys and opened the door for Nathan, and together, he and Nathan escorted Whitney out the door. 

"Must you turn everything into a floor show?" Ezra said, sighing theatrically. "Some of us have actual work to do." 

Chris ignored him, and the fact that Ezra had hung up on his last call to watch the show. Ezra still held the injuries to his feet against Whitney.

Buck was still standing there, looking thoughtful. As soon as Nathan shoved Whitney into the back seat of Josiah's Astro Van and used a second pair of cuffs to attach him to the handle, Chris turned back to Buck. "You done having fun, now?"

He glanced at Chris. "Yeah." Then, "JD…"

"Yeah?" the kid said. 

"Can you pull phone logs from a cell phone?"

"Yeah…uh…I mean, I guess I can get them. Who?"

"Whitney." Buck raised his eyebrows at Chris. 

"Okay. Why?"

Chris frowned, thinking about it. "I doubt we'll get that lucky, Buck, but it can't hurt to check." They should have been on it the day they'd gotten back. To JD he said, "We're looking for calls to Texas. And get the records on Vin's phone too." 

"Where is it?" JD asked. 

"In Wyoming... probably slag on the floor of Vin's cabin."

"Cool. That'll be fun," JD said, and Chris had to look at him to be sure he was joking. JD was hanging around Ezra too much, and picking up on that dry sarcasm Ezra had going. "You know what service he used?" he asked, already doing something at the computer.

"No…I know the number though," Buck said and Chris could only wonder at how until Buck pulled out his wallet and then one of Vin's business cards.

"It's gonna take a while," JD warned. 

Buck shot Chris a grin. "Now what are you so fired up to do?" Buck asked. 

Ezra interrupted before Chris could get a word out. "Damn it, why didn't we have JD on this before?" he snapped, and Chris resisted his minor and way too frequent urge to smack him. Ezra had better hindsight than anybody else he knew. "JD, start from late afternoon Sunday and work backwards, for both of them. Maybe Whitney called James or something. Buck called Chris... what time was that, Chris?"

It seemed like a million years ago, but Chris wasn't going to forget seeing that smoke plume any time soon. "Little after 4:30." 

"You two wanna tell me what you're talking about?"

"Not sure yet," Buck said, edging around Chris and taking their desk chair. He cast a look Ezra's way and made a face; Ezra was jumping to conclusions. "I hadn't thought about their phones until just now." He grinned at the back of Ezra's head. "Ezra didn't either."

"Okay," Chris said, still not getting it. 

Ezra chimed in again. "We won't get that lucky." 

"Maybe not, but it can't hurt to check," Buck said and shrugged. "Just curious now. Probably nothing…" Buck grinned. "But if it's something, won't that be somethin'?"

Chris rolled his eyes and grabbed his paperwork, migrating toward Josiah's desk.

Buck intercepted him on the way, and Chris, wondering just how mush-brained he was getting, let him. He leaned up as Buck leaned down, and even though no tongue was involved Ezra somehow caught the brief exchange, because behind Buck's back Chris clearly heard, "Shit. Do I have to put up with this in the workplace? Isn't this sexual harassment?" 

JD's "Relax Ez, it's sweet," bothered Chris more actually. 

Buck chuckled and drew away, then made a point of ruffling Ezra's hair on his way past his desk. "Protesting an awful lot lately there, Ez," Buck teased. 

"Giving tonsillectomies an awful lot lately there, Buck," Ezra sneered back. "Save it for the sanctity of your home, please. Or at least for places I am not.

"You're just jealous."

"Jealous!" Ezra looked almost amused. "Even if I were to lose my senses and consider such a—a dalliance, I assure you I'd find a hell of a lot better specimen of a man than you."

"Can't be done, Ez," Buck chuckled, and leaned in low. "Just ask Chris."

"Give me a break," Ezra said, leaning away from him. "If you had an inkling of how inane the two of you look half the time...." 

Chris dismissed the rest of their crap, sent a reassuring look JD's way—he hoped it was reassuring, because it seemed to make the kid look wary—and went back to work. 

As four o'clock approached, Chris stood up. He'd migrated right back to his and Buck's desk when Josiah brought Whitney back, noticeably fresher and wearing borrowed clothes, and so far, Whitney hadn't done anything else to piss people off. "Okay, we're out of here." 

Buck gave him a nod then tugged at Chris's arm to get him moving. 

Security at the courthouse was tight and Buck was fidgeting as their IDs were examined, their cell phones checked to make sure they were off. Chris left him to it, happier for him to burn off his nervous energy this way than bugging innocent people. He kept peering past the security desk and got worse when they were passed through, until Chris nudged him in the ribs and he settled some. After a few minutes a shortish man in a business suit came out. "Mr. Larabee? Mr. Wilmington?" he said.

"That's us," Chris said, straightening up a little.

"Leonard Horowitz, Mr. Tanner's attorney," the man said and offered his hand. "Good to meet you both in person." Chris took it first then Buck. 

"Where's Vin?" Buck asked straight away.

"Changing clothes for his arraignment. He uh," Horowitz said with a cautious smile, "he wanted me to give you some…to warn you."

Instantly alert and feeling Buck tense up beside him, Chris kept his tone cool. "Warn us about what?"

"There was some trouble at the jail last night—a fight," Horowitz said nervously and Chris felt a cold knot form in his stomach. "He's fine—well, he looks worse than he actually is—"

"How bad?" Buck demanded, voice low, but all too obviously worried and Chris didn't blame him.

"Stiff and bruised. He had to have some stitches repaired but he is very much on his feet and more than ready to get through his part of the process," Horowitz said, quickly. "He just didn't want you to be too…uhm, surprised at his appearance." 

Chris doubted that was actually anywhere near what Vin had said, but he was grateful for the warning, oddly relieved by the fact that Vin had actually sent word. Maybe some of that "I'm fine on my own" armor was starting to crack. That could be good or bad.

Buck made a soft sound when Vin finally emerged, escorted by a guard. Chris decided the warning had fallen short. The whole side of his face looked like one massive bruise, puffed up and dark, and nowhere near like the Vin Tanner they had seen yesterday who was halfway to mending. He carried an arm stiffly, and the only good sign was that Vin seemed steady on his feet.

Horowitz had found him a suit that fit well enough but still looked like it was meant for anyone but Vin Tanner to wear. Cleaned up, hair pulled back neatly exposing his face and the spectacular bruises, he looked like a man who could use a break. It was bad enough when, after surgery in Wyoming, Vin had been pale and sick under that tan of his but with his hair out of the way the bruises on his face really stood out, and the ace wrap on his wrist didn't help. 

Buck pushed past Horowitz with barely an "excuse me" and Chris was left standing alone when Horowitz ran to catch up to him and ward off a guard who was looking a little twitchy.

Chris caught up in time to hear Horowitz saying, "It's all right, officer Highland. These gentlemen are friends of Mr. Tanner's," and wondered just how much security Orrin thought Vin needed in here. It irritated him, that everybody else knew more than he did. 

"Hey, Buck," Vin said quietly and Chris watched Buck's quick, easy grin come up. 

"You really do need a keeper, don't you?" Buck whistled, low, while Chris made a cop's assessment, taking in the increased swelling and the darkness that framed Vin's eye, cheek, and left temple. 

Vin grimaced in reply, then turned to Horowitz. "Let's get this done."

"Get you out of here," Buck said, ever the optimist. 

"That'd be nice. Uh…" he hesitated, and Chris thought he caught a tinge of red along Vin's unbruised cheek, "thanks for comin'. Friendly faces… means a lot." He grimaced. 

Chris gave him a harder look, seeing a resolution under the bruises, and met Vin's eyes briefly. He found himself smiling in response to the quirk of Vin's lips. "Can't ever take the easy road, huh?"

Vin chuckled at that and dropped his head. "I like the easy road just fine, Larabee. It's the detours that will get you, every time." He gave a little jerk of his head to his guard. "Let's go. Not nice to keep the judge waiting." More quietly, in a tone Chris recognized as more than a little bit desperate, he said, "I feel like I been holdin' my breath all day." As they passed through the courtroom doors, his head was high again.

Chris felt Buck's breath by his ear just before he heard the quiet, "He looks a lot better, don't he? I mean, besides the new damage."

He nodded. Maybe the rest—whatever of it he'd managed to find in that infirmary—had done Tanner good. 

Orrin came in through a side door, sharp-eyed and sharply dressed, as Vin's number was called. 

"Docket 127654-2003-04-12-3765, the State of Georgia versus Alvin G. Tanner," the bailiff called out. Vin was led forward to the low railing, Lenny right beside him. Introductions were swift, Lenny speaking first then the man at the prosecutor's position introducing himself: Abigail Hunter's proxy.

But not Hunter. Maybe that was good, or maybe she was so sure she had her case that she didn't need to come herself. Horowitz waived the reading of the charges, and the judge looked over the paperwork in front of her. "Your client fled custody once, Mr. Horowitz. These charges really don't warrant secondary consideration."

"Yes, your honor, but if you'd look over the affidavits supplied..."

"Most of which were filed from out of state personnel, your honor," the Assistant DA pointed out. 

The Judge looked up briefly, studying Vin, then back at her paperwork. "US Marshals, Council of Chiefs from the Shoshone Nation; you do have interesting friends, Mr. Tanner."

"Yes ma'am, your honor," Vin said quietly, respectfully. 

Buck elbowed Chris gently and grinned. 

"And a bond assurance before I've even set bail," she said and looked around again, eyes resting on Travis. There was a long moment of silence as the judge thumbed through some notes, lingering over one. "Bail is set at five hundred thousand dollars," she said. "Preliminary hearing to be set within three weeks. See the bailiff." 

He and Buck had gotten off light. The bail was ridiculously low for a homicide charge on an out-of-state suspect; Travis must have called in a favor. 

Chris watched Vin's body language, reading it easily; he could tell the moment Vin took in what had just happened, the instant he realized he wasn't going back to jail. He looked light-headed for a second, and Chris felt his weight shift even though he was too far away to catch him if he went down. 

Vin jerked a little when the bailiff actually came up and removed his handcuffs. 

"Bail's being posted, Mr. Tanner," Horowitz said with a grin, and the attorney shared a nod with Travis. 

"Wha—?" 

Buck moved faster than Chris, sidling up to the railing. Chris didn't have to see his face to know he'd be grinning—hell, he felt his own mouth twitching a bit. 

"You two?" Vin said, barely a breath. "You—I—aw, shit. Oh, man... I owe you," he said.

"Yes, Mr. Tanner, you do," Orrin Travis said, coming up to him and studying him. "Shall we clear Judge Haralson's court gentlemen? We have other business to attend to."

Chris hesitated barely a second before reaching out with a steadying hand to Vin's elbow and they left the court. It pained him, to see how Vin kept feeling his wrists, as if he couldn't believe the handcuffs weren't still there. Buck followed close, with Travis and Horowitz on Vin's other side until Travis guided them down the hall and into a small public room. It was Buck who pulled out a chair for Vin as Travis started laying out paperwork. Vin frowned at the letterhead for a minute, then looked up. "Not W&L?" he asked. He frowned between them. 

"Orrin thinks things'll go smoother if his company holds onto you. We just footed the bill, is all."

"Ten percent of five hundred grand is still fifty grand… shit. That ain't 'just' anything." He signed without reading further, still looking pretty shaken up. 

Chris listened as Orrin ran down the standard verbal summation of the bond—things Vin would know as well as any bounty hunter. Chris wasn't sure Vin heard much of it, and didn't really care. The man had just been freed from jail, until the courts tried to put him back in. 

"I've been assured, Mr. Tanner," Orrin said, "that you are a man of your word. Don't make your friends and colleagues liars. You're good, but I've been at this a good many years longer than you have." The warning was delivered politely enough but Chris saw the way Vin straightened his back, glad of it; Orrin Travis was not someone you wanted to be on the bad side of. 

Travis gathered up the paperwork and put it all back in his briefcase. "You'll be hearing from me, Mr. Tanner," Travis said, handing over a business card. 

"Yes sir." Travis left then, without a word for any of them, and Vin looked hard across the table at Buck, then at Chris. "I skip, that's your reward check for bringing me in."

"Actually," Chris said, uncomfortable, "it's our house."

"Your house?" Vin looked as shocked as Chris had felt when he'd realized what they'd have to do for Vin's surety. They could scrape up the cash somehow by cleaning out their savings and taking a mortgage on the farm, but Chris was oddly sure he wouldn't have to. 

"We don't have the check yet, slick, so you'd best be on good behavior. I don't want to have to hunt you down again." 

"You won't like how things turn out if we do," Chris said, a warning as much as a threat. Then, "None of us will." 

"Your house?" Vin said again, looking between them. Chris could understand, he really could. Being willing to provide Vin's surety was surely one of the dumber things he'd let Buck talk him into. 

Buck put a hand on Chris's shoulder and said to Vin, "Let's just figure out how to clear you, Vin, and then the problem'll go away. They drop the charges, they'll drop the bail."

Vin still looked a little pale. "Yeah… yeah. Need to change," Vin said, nodding his thanks when Horowitz handed him his clothes folded up neatly in a plastic bag.

"There's a bathroom across the hall," Buck offered helpfully, grinning over at Chris when Vin didn't move. "I'll take him, Chris," he said, and Chris didn't know quite what to make of that smile. 

He waited in the hall until Vin and Buck came out, and now Vin was grinning widely. Chris chalked it up to Buck's charm, or to Vin getting out of jail, or both. 

Outside the courthouse was sunny and clear and Chris put a hand to Buck's shoulder to get him to stop crowding Vin. Together they watched as Vin took another deep breath then took the stairs slowly, stopping himself from just standing there and turning his face up to the sun. Eyes open, he scanned what he could see—mostly buildings, tall and old, but the City of Atlanta didn't stint on the landscaping and even among the stink of hot pavement and exhaust, he could still see and smell and feel the green around him, leafy trees spreading out over the entrance to the parking lot, more trees glimpsed over roofs and down the median.

"Now if y'all can point me to a phone and the closest cheap motel..." 

Buck chewed on his lower lip for a moment, giving Vin a look Chris couldn't decipher. "Chris?" Buck asked then, and Chris found himself caught up in Buck's eyes, pissed off already because he could see where this was going. Buck was gonna get himself so enmeshed in all this shit—he pursed his lips a little, and felt his whole face tighten up just as Buck began to smile. To hell with it. 

"Our place is the cheapest you're gonna get," he offered. "You pay for groceries while you're there, how's that?" 

Vin jerked a thumb toward Buck. "Depends on how he eats," Vin said with a tiny grin. Then he sobered. "No shit, I can get a motel."

"No shit, you can stay at our place," Buck corrected, roping an arm around his waist to steer him toward the car. Vin tensed and twisted and he hissed, curling up against obvious pain. Buck cursed under his breath, jerking his arm away.

"Bullet hole, Buck," Chris chided.

"Sorry, Vin," Buck apologized. 

"His brain turns to mush in the presence of a pretty face," Chris said. 

"Or a tight ass?" Vin asked with a chuckle and then turned away a little. 

Chris took a step closer to Buck, grinning now himself. "He's got your number, stud." 

Buck hooked an arm around his neck and just kept grinning. "Take the front, Vin. I'm not shot," Buck said, and folded himself into the back.

"Yeah you are," Chris said dangerously. 

"All right, all right," Buck bitched. "Not as shot."

"Right up there with 'not as pregnant,' so try that in court," Chris sniped, but they all loaded into the car. He pulled out his cell phone, speed-dialing the office as he slid the key into the ignition. "Josiah? Tanner's out. You can take care of that other piece of—"

"—shit," Buck interjected.

"—business," Chris said, glaring over his shoulder. He rang off. 

"What's that?" Vin asked, but Chris wasn't sure he'd been really listening. 

"Whitney." Chris grinned. "Josiah's gonna turn him into the jail now, let him take your place." 

As he pulled out of the lot he saw it, the sudden loosening of tension in Vin's shoulders, the way he eased a little deeper into the seat. "That's nice," he said, so heartfelt that Chris relaxed a little, himself. 

W&L • W&L • W&L 

Vin wasn't in much of a mood to talk, although Buck tried, wanting to make sure the man hadn't fared worse in jail than he'd said. But after a few exchanges with only monosyllabic answers he gave it up. Vin seemed distracted, hugging close to the open window as the highway and buildings gave way to more highway then trees and greenways. By the time they pulled off 400 and onto highway nine, heading for the country, Vin almost looked like he was asleep. Buck tapped Chris on the back of the neck and jerked his head toward the passenger seat, but Chris just shrugged after he glanced over. 

"He'll be fine," Chris said quietly.

"Know the only thing I'm sure of?" Buck barely whispered above the purr of the engine. Chris met his eyes in the rearview. "That you like him, too." 

Chris narrowed his eyes on a glare, but he didn't deny it. 

Vin hit the shower almost immediately after they arrived at the house and showed him the room he could claim. Vin's low whistle and, "Guess they pay better for bounties out here" made Buck look around. He forgot sometimes how recent the remodel was, and thought again about Vin's little cabin in the wild. His and Chris's home sure had a lot more going for it in the way of comforts.

Chris had transferred Vin's knapsack from the Astro Van to the Camaro the night they'd gotten in, and fetched it now, handing it to Buck and then they were both heading for the kitchen to put together a meal of sorts. 

Twenty minutes later, Vin found his way into the kitchen, wet hair loosely pulled back in a ponytail, wearing fresh jeans and a clean t-shirt.

"Dinner's on. Sandwiches," Chris offered. "Beer?" He held one out. Buck almost protested but given the day Vin had had, he wasn't going to begrudge him something to take the edge off. 

Vin shook his head. "Not really hungry, thanks," he said, but took the beer before Chris could get the top off. Vin gave him a quick grin then made his way out onto the back porch. 

Chris picked up his own sandwich and glanced out the window, leaning back slightly when Buck came up behind him and snagged a bite of his food. Buck settled his hands along Chris's belt line and looked too, but Vin was just leaning on the rail of the deck, staring outward. He'd opened the beer but he seemed more interested in holding it to his face than drinking it. In the few minutes that they watched, he didn't move more than to shift his weight a couple of times. 

"Think he's all right?" Buck asked. 

Chris shook his head. "Don't know. Probably will be. He'll come in when he's ready. Give him some space."

Buck wrapped his hands around Chris's waist, pulling him gently back and grinned at the smirk he saw on Chris's face. "Yeah, I think I can find something to occupy myself for awhile." Chris tilted his head and looked over his shoulder, going for stern refusal but failing so miserably, Buck had to grin and grind his groin against Chris's ass. 

"Somebody feedin' you raw meat?" Chris groused, then tried, "We've got company," but he was already turning in the circle of Buck's arms.

"Yep. And company's out on the deck getting some fresh air, and even if he gets done before we do, I reckon he can find his way around."

Chris glanced briefly out the window again. "You reckon?" he asked, and before Buck could think of an answer Chris had tilted his head up and his hands were tugging Buck's down. After a long, wet minute, Chris drew back from the kiss and grinned. "Come on, then. Get a move on."  
They went to the bedroom and spent a sweet, sweet half-hour filled with smelling and touching and kissing and no little panting and groaning, and it took work to crawl out of bed rather than finish each other off and go to sleep early again. But anticipation was half the pleasure of lovemaking, and Buck wanted to check on Vin. 

Sneaking a peek out of the slider door, Buck found Vin pretty much where they'd left him, and wondered if they'd been too noisy... but no. It hadn't been like that. They'd done far more panting and groping than humping and yelling. Vin had moved to sit on the deck steps, his bare feet in the grass, but he didn't seem inclined to explore any further than that. 

The space Vin required lasted another hour or so. The air was sultry out, and southern-sweet, comfortable in a walking around naked kind of way, and maybe if Vin weren't out there they'd have gone out to the backyard and just stretched on the grass, doing nothing more complicated than breathing.

It cooled off enough after the sun finally set that they started opening windows, and Buck settled down on the sofa, tugging Chris to curl up against him and watch whatever was on TV. When the kitchen door snicked shut Chris jerked, startled, and Buck let him ease away from their loose embrace. Vin stepped into the living room looking tired, but he was calmer somehow, his smile easier. 

"I'm gonna hit the sack," he said. "Thanks for the put up..."

"Not a problem," Chris said, watching him. Buck said good night too and watched, too, until Vin disappeared down the hall. 

An hour later Buck was ready for bed if not sleep—coming home from hard work brought out the very best in him—and he nudged Chris through to their own bedroom with a light smack on the butt. "I'm gonna check on him." 

Chris frowned. "Thought you were gonna check on me."

Buck leered. "I'll get to that."

"Yeah." 

Buck watched Chris for a second, looking forward to bed and whatever they decided to do in it, before he padded quietly to Vin's door and looked in. The house was comfortable, cool enough for Vin to have sprawled out on the bed without pulling the comforter or sheets back. The light was on from his bathroom, spreading a band of light across his back. The half-healed gash looked angry and wet.

He hadn't been able to reach it to bandage it after his shower, Buck realized. Chris had been tending Buck's wound twice a day with all the care of a first-year nurse, and his arm was healing up right on schedule. He slipped into the room then the bath, locating the box of gauze, the tape, the cream, pills. Antibiotics only. That bothered him a bit, and he wondered if they hadn't sent any others or if Vin hadn't wanted them. Moving quietly, he slipped back out and into the hall to find his jacket and dig through the pockets, dragging out the Vicodin he'd reclaimed from Ezra. Maybe Vin didn't want them but even if he did, Buck suspected he wouldn't ask for them.

He carried them back to Vin's room and left the bottle on the counter. Gathering up what he needed he went back to the bed, set the supplies down quietly and reached out to touch Vin's shoulder.

Before he could even say Vin's name to wake him, he found his injured arm gripped in a sweep and twist that jerked a startled yell from him. He'd forgotten how fast Vin could be, and where Vin had been for the past week. "It's Buck! Vin, ease off!" Buck hissed, and the grip eased almost immediately, but Vin was breathing shallow and fast.

"Sorry," Vin muttered and his head snapped up as Chris came in at a half run, dressed only in his boxers, and hit the overhead light, causing Buck to blink and Vin to grunt softly at the sudden brightness. 

"What happened?"

"I startled him." Buck said it fast, because it was true, and did what he could to keep from reaching for his own shoulder, which now burned like hell. "It's fine. Was gonna wake him, get a bandage on his side, see about his wrist…"

Vin rubbed a hand over his face. "Sorry... I am—just—" A flush tinged his cheek that Buck was pretty sure was embarrassment. 

"No harm. Just lie back down. I'll take care of this and you can go back to sleep." Chris looked confused and a little wary again, but Buck just flashed him a smile and waved him back toward their bedroom. 

Chris seemed reluctant to go, staring at Vin like he had when they'd first met, or like he'd forgotten that Vin could be as dangerous as he was. But he backed off after a moment with a terse, "Come to bed when you're done."

"Now look what you've done," Buck chided to Vin, carefully rotating his shoulder and then stopping when he realized that was a bad idea when torn muscle and tugged stitches protested. "You ease around here quiet as a church mouse, get him all relaxed, and wind him right back up again."

Vin frowned, but he rolled over carefully and stretched out, arms wrapped around the pillow as Buck swiped the wound clean then put a little of the ointment on it and taped the gauze pad in place. "How's your wrist?"

"Fine. Scraped up is all," Vin said, holding it up to show him. It just looked bruised and raw from cuffs jerked too hard, and it rotated easily enough. Vin could take care of it just fine. His face looked like crap, what Buck could still see of it, but there wasn't much to be done but wait for it to heal. "Good. You take your pill?"

"This morning," Vin said. "Thanks. Couldn't reach it."

Buck gave him a grin and a squeeze on his shoulder before getting up and laying a light swat across his ass. "Tell one of us. Stupid to have it go bad after all you've been through." He gathered up the supplies and took them back into the bathroom, leaving the bathroom light on but turning off the overhead from the second wall switch. "You always wake up like that? Or is this... you have problems in jail?"

"Nothing major and no... usually don't come up swinging, 'less I have a reason."

Maybe he did. "Sleep yourself out, Vin. Help yourself to what you need," Buck reminded him and left.

Chris was sitting on the bed, back against their combined pillows, glasses on and a book in his hand. It was still open to the first page. His boxers were spread across the bottom end of the bed in what Buck considered a blatant invitation. 

"He okay?" Chris asked, pulling his glasses off and setting them and the book aside. 

"Jumpy, is all." Buck stripped down and headed for the bathroom to wash his face and take a piss before returning to slide into the bed. He kept his smile to himself as Chris shifted closer, and offered himself as both cushion and pillow. "You really okay with him being here?" he asked, gathering Chris up.

Chris's hand ghosted along his back. "Yeah. We can afford to be generous."

That was true, and then some. They'd been throwing vacation ideas back and forth, pie-in-the-sky stuff really, especially after Chris's meeting with Charlene Cruz. She wanted Vin close and available, and them too, until she decided whether she could use them as character references or glean some tidbit of information, so it could be awhile before they could take off anywhere. This thing was sounding like something a whole lot bigger than Jess Kincaid's murder. Charlene was surprisingly close-mouthed, and the District Attorney might as well have been a mute, but Buck knew lurking feds when he saw them and— 

And Buck didn't want to think about it right now. He'd been thinking too much already, and the running around in circles was threatening to give him a headache. Far better to focus on the good things, he thought, sliding his hand down Chris's flank and briefly over his hipbone. They were rich men. Well, richer anyway. But enough to take that vacation and maybe, maybe if Buck could talk Chris around to it, turn this place into the breeding farm they'd once meant it to be. 

Chris's hand shifted to ruffle through his hair. "You spending money already?"

"Hell, yes. Aren't you?" Buck grunted back.

"Maybe. Can't think of much I need, though," Chris said and his hand tightened in Buck's hair briefly.

It took Buck a moment to swallow that down along with the accompanying tightness in his throat, and he pushed up and rolled back a bit. "Yeah. We got it pretty good, don't we?" Chris nodded, solemn, but there was something warm and humorous in his eyes too. 

He leaned in to plant a soft kiss on Buck's mouth, then twitched their noses together. "Real good." He settled back down, his face nuzzling into the side of Buck's neck, beard growth tickling. Snuffling sounds right beneath his ear made him want to twitch, but he didn't move, didn't disturb Chris who was obviously settling in. He'd fully expected them to get up to a little something, or a lot of something after the way they'd heated each other up earlier, but Chris had derailed his libido just then, and Buck just held him close and breathed him in, feeling their hearts beat together. He was a lucky man. 

W&L • W&L • W&L 

It took Chris a minute to figure out what woke him. Buck was snoring softly behind him, one hand still cupped possessively over Chris's ass, but he shifted a little when Chris pushed up, listening. He didn't hear anything but the hum of the overhead fan.

Then the crickets started up again and he realized they'd been silent for the long moments that he struggled with waking. Careful not to wake Buck, he slid out of bed. The door was still closed and he pulled it open, glancing down the hall to see a glimmer of light from Vin's open door.

The room was empty, but the comforter and a pillow were gone. Confused, Chris wandered back down the hall toward the back of the house. The kitchen was dark and the living room, but the motion detector lights were on out back, timed to a delay. Even as he watched they flicked off and he had to let his eyes adjust.

The porch door was unlocked but Chris was pretty sure he had locked it when they headed for bed. Moonlight spilled in and he stopped. The comforter in the spare bedroom was pale blue and white stripes and the moonlight picked up on the white and on the darker shadow that was Vin, stretched out on the floor of the screened in porch. Folded up, the comforter no doubt made a decent bedroll and it was warm enough by comparison to Lander that even at three in the morning Vin wouldn't need a blanket while he was outside. Lying on his stomach revealed the bandage at Vin's back, starker white above the waistband of his faded jeans.

There wasn't enough light to see Vin's face, but he gave a snuffling little half snore and Chris backed away.

Buck predictably woke, or made it halfway there, when Chris returned to bed.

"Whas wrong?"

"Nothing. Vin's sleeping on the porch. Go back to sleep," Chris soothed and Buck settled in again.

"Doesn't like small spaces," Buck mumbled, dragging himself up to an elbow. The front bedroom was probably almost as big as Vin's whole cabin, and Chris turned that over in his head for a few minutes before letting it go. Vin hadn't made a big deal about it and neither would he. Not when so many other things about the man either baffled him or felt oddly familiar.

Buck cleared his throat and Chris felt more than saw him lean back to look toward the closed curtains. "The deck?"

"Huh uh. Porch." 

Buck did roll over then, and the small bedside lamp clicked on a second later; Chris blinked a few times until his eyes adjusted, and when he could see well enough it was something about the look in Buck's eyes that warned him. "It's the middle of the night..." 

"You fell asleep on me again." 

Chris glared, indignant. "I did not. I was up for anything you were, and night before last you're the one who fell asleep! There I was, ready to go, and I come out of the john and you're sprawled on your belly snoring into my pillow."

"I'm awake now," Buck said, and there was no challenge in his voice, no comment about how they'd cuddled up and heavy-petted like teenagers not eight hours ago and missed that orgasm too. There was just welcome, and invitation, and Chris thought back to bedtime and how Buck's arms had tightened on him but stopped there. They could have gone further, gone to places they hadn't in weeks at least—something beyond randiness and hormones and exhausted efforts for each other. 

"I c'n see that." They were home now, and not leaving any time soon. They had room to breathe, and weeks on weeks to make up for... he shifted over, rolling his hips and pressing Buck back.

Buck stretched to meet Chris's mouth as it descended, to shift and hold. A hand tucked around his ass and tugged so they lined up right. Chris only rubbed a little, just enough to spark fresh interest if Buck was serious, not enough to drag it out of him if he wasn't, and leaned in again with softer, lighter kisses, bare brushes against Buck's mouth then his jaw. Buck's hands rubbed at his butt and his eyes stayed open, attentive for all that it was the middle of the night, telling Chris more about his partner's intentions than the hands on his ass or the dick firming against his own. Chris kneaded at Buck's good shoulder and threaded a hand through his hair. They'd had a little stress relief over the last few days, for tenderness to settle lingering fears, for Chris to remind himself with every dressing change that Buck was fine and whole, to make the big hammock in the back yard sag dangerously with both of them in it. This was more than all of that, more than stress relief and more than simple affirmation that they were all right, still alive, still together. 

Chris was content to use this time to remind Buck that he was glad for this choice they'd made four years ago. He said it only rarely, but showed it when he could, when his own sense of gratitude and love didn't choke him up and make him self-conscious. He pressed heavily against Buck and smiled. 

"Hey," he breathed after more slow, moist kisses, and Buck's head drew back. Chris stared, looking for and finding everything in those deep blue eyes, shadowed almost black in the dim light. They shone, and Buck's face looked almost pained, and Chris grinned softly at first. "You gonna get all choked up on me?"

"Maybe," Buck admitted, unashamed. "Love you, Chris." 

The soft humor melted away, replaced by something so intense, so achingly gentle that Chris felt his throat tighten. He dropped his head down and buried it in Buck's shoulder to hide, just for a second, but when he began to draw away Buck followed him up, holding gently, sheltering him. It took a minute for Chris to shake off the intensity if not the feeling, and he breathed deeply of Buck, glad to be home, happy to be here and teetering on this brink of lovemaking. 

He put his hips and hands to work, building pressure between their groins as fingertips traveled lazy paths up and down his arms, his sides. Buck's arms wrapped tightly around him and squeezed, pulling them even closer together. After a moment Chris drew back to a straight-armed position and stared down at him. "You okay?" Buck nodded while Chris just stared, his gaze easing back and forth, up and down, just taking Buck in.

"You okay?" Buck teased a little, his hands sliding down to rest just at the swell of Chris's hips. 

Chris was more than okay. He was already hard, and made a point of getting Buck that way too, so that by the time he reached for the slick Buck had that stupid, half-blank expression on his face. He grinned and eased off Buck, then greased up his hand and clasped Buck's shaft, working it in slithery spirals that had Buck's belly hollowing out and his head pushing back into the pillows. But when Buck made to move, Chris pushed him back down and swung over to straddle his thighs. 

"Whyn't you let me handle this...you're still wounded," he said, mock-serious, and Buck huffed out a breath of laughter before he slid his palms up Chris's thighs. For about two seconds he thought about getting athletic or inventive, or urging Buck over onto his belly and sliding his dick home—because that's what Buck was, home, in all the ways that mattered. 

But he was already home, and he didn't need to get athletic to know that. He just had to move, fit their bodies together so that dick slid against slick dick and mouth could, occasionally, slide against mouth. Buck's hands clutched at his waist in time with their thrusts, easy but urgent, until first Buck, then Chris, tipped right over the edge into joy. 

When sanity eased back, Chris lifted his weight with a grunt and rolled to the wrong side of the bed so that they lay next to each other, legs entwined, hearts still beating fast. And so he could see Buck's face by the light of the lamp behind his head. He watched thick lashes flicker, and the pleasure on Buck's face fade, kissed goodbye the sleepy look that said sorry, just gotta rest my eyes for a sec, and smiled softly as Buck's lips parted a little in sleep. He watched for a few minutes longer, fingers sliding across the drying sweat on Buck's chest, feeling the silky softness of skin and hair. 

Then, just before he turned off the lamp, he said it: "I love you too, Buck."

[Index] [Previous ] [Next] 

The Magnificent Seven and it characters @ MGM, the Trilogy Entertainment Group, the Mirisch Corporation and TNN, and was developed by John Watson and others.


	6. Skip Trace - Waiting Games: Chapter 6

SKIP TRACE: WAITING GAMES  
By Charlotte C. Hill and Maygra 

Universe: Skip Trace 

Acknowledgements: Many thanks to Megan for morale and editorial support, as well as a few scenes .

Pairing/Characters: C/B, Vin, Ezra, cameos by the Nathan, Josiah & JD

Rating: NC17 (We mean, seriously...look who's writing this thing!)

Story Notes: What would have been a "duology" (or whatever a two-book series is) was first far too long, and second, couldn't adequately credit maygra for contributions she made to the parts of the epic post-"The Big Score". So I picked a somewhat arbitrary place to divide it, at a point in real life not long after we lost Maygra to a dark forc--I mean, another fandom. I hope I've covered all of her contributions save one, and that I have also helped her avoid having to take the blame for anything that follows.

Feedback: yes, please, any kind, on or off list to charlottechill@yahoo.com and maygra@bellsouth.net. 

Saturday, May 19  
Chris wasn't surprised to find coffee made when he finally stumbled into the kitchen the next morning. Maybe he should have been, but it figured Vin wouldn't oversleep once the sun rose and it started to warm up on the porch. Buck was mumbling in his sleep so he'd be up soon enough, too.

He checked the porch, but Vin wasn't there, and the comforter and pillow were gone. Movement out of the corner of his eye made him look out the back door and he found Vin, dressed in jeans and nothing else, sitting on the deck railing, back against the side of the house, a cup of coffee in his hand, just staring again.

Chris backed up silently to fetch his own cup. The coffee was on the strong side, just enough to jolt him awake and get his brain moving—Buck was gonna love it—and he glanced out the kitchen window and across the deck, toward his and Buck's bedroom, then back toward the kitchen door. Having someone other than Buck or Buck's mother here overnight was strange, although not necessarily bad. Better than having his own parents here, and the way they'd try to get him and Buck to sleep in separate bedrooms "for the comfort of his guests." Shit. 

He and Buck wouldn't have that problem with Vin, he realized with a quick grin. So it was just an adjustment and he'd probably be used to it about the time Vin decided to move on. Not that the competing alphabets were going to let him leave the state any time soon; it could be weeks or months before the US Attorneys wrung Vin dry, a fact he wasn't too sure Vin was aware of just yet. Just as he wasn't aware of the fact that Charlene Cruz had looked like she'd just won tickets to Disneyland when Chris had told her what they both speculated, that Whitney might be a linchpin in the whole James organization. He didn't think Vin would take that very well given how much leeway federal agencies gave criminals who turned on their bosses—he wouldn't have, had their positions been reversed.

The District Attorney was a mess he wouldn't even speculate about, but he knew that murder one, shoving a police officer out of his way, and grand theft auto weren't charges that Hunter would drop on a whim. 

He let the door bang lightly on his way out, enough to warn Vin he wasn't alone. He didn't need a repeat of the display last night. Ever.

Vin nodded good morning and despite his night on the porch he looked rested. He glanced over as Chris crossed the deck. "Did I wake you?" he asked when Chris was close enough to hear without Vin raising his voice.

Chris shook his head and took a sip of coffee. "Nope. I get up early." He looked out at the arc of the sun, well off the horizon already. "Usually, I get up early," he added, wry. "We usually run... or I try to get some work done."

"Wouldn't think you'd be doing much of that for a bit," Vin said with a quirk of his lips. "That nest egg hatching and all."

"We wake you up last night?" Chris asked, changing the subject. Buck had been appreciative to say the least, and Chris vaguely remembered maybe adding a little to the volume. Their door had been closed but the slider'd been open a few inches, and sound carried out here. Vin cocked his head, confused. "You were out on the porch."

"Oh. No. You didn't keep me up," Vin chuckled and Chris grinned a little self- consciously. "Just needed some...space."

He'd had precious little of that recently. "I'll go in."

"Naw... I mean, not people just..." he raised one hand up, gesturing around them with no real object of focus. "Just...space."

Chris shifted over to the rail, leaning his butt against it and setting his cup down, following the vague circle Vin had made. "That why you like Wyoming so much?"

"Pretty much." Vin drew a knee up, leaning his head back. "Mostly, it's been home longer than anyplace else."

"What about Texas?"

"I lived there when I was a kid. Not much to go back for."

"I know the feeling," Chris said, thinking of Indiana and his folks and the farm there that in his lifetime had never been worked for more than pasturing horses. He did go back though, because Buck dragged him up there a couple of times a year if he could manage it, to see his folks, maybe see how little it had changed and definitely to take advantage of the fact that they stayed in a hotel because Chris's mother couldn't stomach the idea of them sharing his old room. Chris couldn't say why it entertained Buck so much, and Buck gave him shit about it about it to this day, but... he was just glad his sister and younger brother lived close enough to do what needed to be done when his parents had need of it. "Just the jail, or...?"

"Not much one for small places," Vin said after a moment, dropping his gaze to the nearly empty mug. "Never have been. My truck ought to be in impound," he said, before Chris could comment. "They'll have towed it from the crime scene, I reckon. 

"Yeah. Need to go into town anyway, got some things to do at the office. We can get your truck then."

Vin nodded and murmured his thanks, obviously feeling no pressure to talk. Neither did Chris, and they shared a companionable silence, but he found himself tuned in to the few tiny movements Vin did make: a tilt of his head when the larks started up, a jerk at a hummingbird, the lift of his chin when the breeze came by.

He heard a door open and close, distant and muffled, and knew Buck had made it at least as far as the bathroom. After a few more minutes passed, Chris needed to shift position, wondering at the fact that Vin didn't. Maybe once, in the service, he'd been able to stay that still for long periods, but he'd lost that edge, and didn't miss it. 

"Buck's up. You ready for some breakfast?" Chris asked finally, draining his cup, and Vin nodded again, twisting carefully to let his feet hit the deck.

Vin offered to help, mixing up the eggs while Chris fried sausage. A package of biscuits went with them and Buck stumbled out just as the eggs were poured into a pan. 

"Not running today?" Buck, hair sticking out every which way, stood barefoot in a pair of red and intriguingly tiny running shorts, and a worn tee shirt. 

"Later. Perfect timing as usual by the way, mouth," Chris teased. Buck might sleep five minutes or three hours later than Chris, but if food was cooked he appeared as the main course hit the pan. Chris conveniently forgot that he didn't usually start cooking until he heard him stir. 

"Just be glad I'm not hungry for anything else," Buck grinned back, and stepped up behind him to press their bodies together and slide his arms around Chris's belly. Not hungry enough, more like it, Chris thought, half-interested and half-amused as Buck's half-hard dick nudged just above his butt cheek. Chris turned enough to gather up a good morning kiss, and snorted when Buck made half a play at kissing Vin too. Buck settled for a "Morning, pard," when Vin waved the spatula in his face. 

"You getting rested up? " Buck asked, getting coffee and sliding into one of the chairs at the kitchen table. Chris plunked a stack of plates and flatware in front of him and Buck dutifully dealt it out.

"Yeah. Feelin' better. Ya'll have a nice place here. You plan on running horses?" Vin asked, dividing up the eggs.

"Someday," Chris cut in before Buck could. It was a discussion they'd have, now that they had the money, but it was between them, and not something he was willing to discuss in front of Vin.

Buck's eyes softened and he echoed, "Someday."

They got the food on the table and Chris slid in at the end of the nook while Vin took an empty chair to his right. He and Buck covered their planned schedule for the day which included a lot but had no set timetable. They still had catch-up paperwork, the ins and outs of actually running the business that oftentimes couldn't be avoided, and that they were regularly behind on when they traveled too much or for too long. They also had to help the rest of the guys, what with him and Buck practically out of service these past weeks, and now Ezra and JD gone for a couple of days. Vin listened, but mostly just tucked his food in slowly and deliberately and offered to clean up.

"You run much?" Buck asked, as he stretched and patted his belly. 

"Have," Vin said. "I'm a little out of practice, what with this murder thing..."

"Don't worry about it, Vin," Buck assured. "We run in the mornings. Not far lately, we're pretty out of practice ourselves. We won't be gone long."

Chris nodded agreement even as he wondered why he'd been so willing to take this morning off. He was, as Buck usually pointed out, the militant slave driver about their routine, so he got up without comment and followed Buck to their bedroom with a quiet "thanks" to Vin for cleaning up. Opting for sweats instead of the skimpy split shorts Buck had chosen today, Chris followed Buck down the long driveway then out onto the road for a mile or so before turning around, energized, refreshed, and far more ready to start the day. His back was still nagging at him, but damned if he'd tell Buck that. "How's your arm?" he asked by way of distraction, in case Buck had noticed. 

"Better'n your back," Buck grinned right back. 

Shit. "I'll see to it when we get back."

"Same here." Buck liked knowing he wasn't the only one hurting; it kept Chris from going completely crazy about the bullet crease, after all. 

W&L • W&L • W&L 

When they got home, Buck found Vin showered and shaved and sitting in the kitchen reading a four-day-old newspaper. 

They might have crawled back into bed, dozing together until noon, if not for Vin's troubles. Instead Buck jumped into the shower, then Chris sluiced off so fast that the water was off while Buck was still trying to dry his hair one-handed. Chris eased up against him and Buck let him take the towel away from. "I'll do it," Chris offered, and Buck stood still, head tipped back to make it easier for Chris, sighing in animal pleasure at the scalp massage and the attention as Chris finished the job then smoothed the towel over his shoulders and back to pick up stray water. "Let me see to you," Chris said quietly, and Buck just nodded, happy and docile. He stood still until Chris had the supplies out again, then sat on the toilet and let his partner soothe and clean and apply antiseptic, tugging a stitch that was already starting to come loose on its own until Chris batted his hand away. Chris glared at him, but went for the tweezers anyway and teased it out, sneaking worried looks up through his lashes. Buck was smiling by the time Chris laid the gauze over the stitches and taped it down, but he tried to wipe it off his face before Chris looked up. Chris was beautiful to him like this, all tight-lipped worry and gentle concern, but Buck knew he shouldn't enjoy it so much, seeing as the mood was fueled by old fear. 

Still. "Thanks," he breathed, catching Chris's arm before he drew too far away and kissing him deeply, tasting toothpaste and the muscle and flesh that was all his. "I've gotta get out of here," he said gruffly, pushing Chris away a little. 

"I'm not arguing," Chris pointed out, and Buck had to grin at the reluctance in Chris's voice. Chris wanted to argue, and it did Buck's heart good to hear that reluctance in the voice of an admitted workaholic. But Buck wanted to catch up with JD, who had drawn long weekends this month to answer the phones, process new bail sureties, and stay on top of any of their clients who required extra attention. And it was Chris's turn to do payroll for everybody. That was easier on Saturdays, when the office was a little quieter. 

He kept his grin to himself when Chris followed him after they got dressed and watched as once more he wrangled Vin back to the front bedroom and took care of the bandaging Vin couldn't reach. It looked some better, Buck thought, but the scar would be obvious and ugly compared to his own. The surgeons had done a lot of digging around to clean it up and their work would leave a bigger mark than the actual bullet had made. Vin favored it when he pulled on a shirt, twisting carefully and hissing, and probably would for a couple of weeks yet. 

"You mind if I use your phone?" Vin caught Buck's eye. "It's long distance…"

"Go ahead," Buck said, and headed toward the coffee pot, far enough to give Vin a little privacy but near enough to listen in anyway. 

The easy smile that came to Vins' face when somebody answered made it obvious: Vin was calling home. As near as he could figure, everyone was happy Vin was out, and Vin's hesitation before saying, "I'm staying with Chris and Buck" told him Vin wasn't planning on moving on just yet. "I am," Vin went on. "I am, Claire… I'm stayin' in their house, ain't I?" he grumbled. "I need to talk to Chanu, if he's around." Vin hunkered deeper into his chair. 

Buck listened easily, and even with only half the conversation put together that Chanu had access to the mysterious package, that it was on its way… and that Vin spoke Shoshone plenty good once he realized Buck was listening. Vin had glanced up, caught Buck's eyes on him, and switched languages mid-sentence. 

When Vin rang off he stood stiffly and walked over to Buck. "You want the playback?" he asked sourly.

"Nah, I got enough. But well, I thought you'd be happy to talk to 'em…" he let the question hang there between them. 

Vin scowled. "I hate folks gossipin' about me."

"Well, when you bring hit men home the neighbors are bound to talk," Buck said on a grin. "So—you'll get what you're waiting for soon?"

"Monday, looks like. Maybe the day after."

"What the hell took so long?" Buck asked, honestly confused. They'd given Vin their address days ago. 

"SNAFU in Lander," Vin said, waving the problem away. 

"They sending it here?" Buck asked. 

"Buck…"

"Send it here." 

Vin blew out a breath and met his eyes, and Buck stood still for the scrutiny, wondering what he'd be thinking if the tables were turned and he was the one in trouble amongst strangers. 

Chris saw the tension rise between them, then sighed and pushed off the doorframe, drawing Vin's eyes off Buck. He had been listening too without being as obvious about it, and he thought if Buck had played that better they'd have heard the whole conversation. Not that it had sounded like much. "If you're worried about it being intercepted, then this is the best place, Vin," he said. "Nobody but Travis and our people know you're here." 

Vin frowned, but hit the redial button, and the only words Chris could pick out were the ones in their address. Cagey bastard. 

"You sure y'all don't mind me staying here while you go into town?" Vin asked when he hung up the phone. 

Chris shot a look at Buck. "Wouldn't," he said, "but the US Attorney's gonna be expecting you by noon or so; I thought your lawyer told you last night." Orrin had told him, so Chris figured everybody knew.

Vin looked surprised, but recovered quickly enough. "I reckon he could've told me I won the state lottery after I got released, and it would've gone right over my head." He finger-combed his hair, shaking it a little and the damp strands curled around his shoulders, leaving tiny, dark spots on his shirt. "The federal government works on Saturdays down here?" he asked.

Buck grinned and answered before Chris could. "Special case just for you, pard. And those four shooters Ez and JD brought back. Good thing we asked you to stay out here, huh."

"Guess so," Vin said, still looking a little startled. 

Chris shared a look with Buck, and shrugged. "Let's get a move on, then. Buck's got some coddling to do." JD needed some big brothering almost as much as Buck needed to bother him. 

"Ha ha," Buck said, not one of his more brilliant comebacks. Chris let it go; when you talked as much as Buck did, you couldn't expect to sound good all the time. Chris had gotten used to the pattern of it, stupid-bright, gentle-hard, profound-goofball, like the rhythm of waves crashing on a beach. 

He rattled car keys to get them moving. He was half-tempted to tell Vin what he knew about Charlene Cruz's tactics and plans, only he wasn't sure he wanted to be stuck in the car with Vin if he turned out to have a noisy temper. Let him ask his own questions and get answers from the source.

They dropped Vin off at the federal building, left their numbers to call when he was done and then went to see what they could do about getting his truck out of hock. They couldn't sign it out themselves, but they got the forms, and Buck went ahead and paid the impound fee, shrugging at Chris's raised eyebrow.

"He'll pay it back," Buck said. "And if he doesn't, two hundred and eighty bucks is gonna be the least of our worries." They headed into the office.

Everyone but Ezra was already there, and Nathan and Josiah were on the phone. JD was buried in his computer. He wore a telephone headset but Chris could tell by the way his concentration looked that he wasn't talking to anyone. "Hey, kid," Chris greeted, because Buck kept reminding him that JD still looked up to him, and kept urging him to be nicer. 

"Hey, Chris. Hey, Buck." JD grinned. "Got that new long range mic in," he said, and bolted from his chair toward the packing box by the coffee maker. 

Chris looked to Buck for help, but Buck had already commandeered their desk chair and was reading, looking suspiciously intent. JD's snoopware fascination had yielded mostly crap, because tools, no matter how good, couldn't replace simple human intelligence, especially on the road, but they had great new night-vision goggles, some pretty snazzy tracking gear that didn't hurt when hunting certain kinds of skips, and JD generally returned the stuff they didn't like, so the research only cost them restocking fees. 

Buck got their paper filed and when he dropped it into Ezra's "in" basket, Chris considered grabbing up the checkbook and work logs and stealing their desk back, but Buck must've noticed his look. Buck backed away, keeping directly in the path between Chris and their corner, and two seconds later had his feet up on the desk and was surveying the room like the lord of the castle. 

"JD," Chris grinned, entering into a years-old game that had once determined which of them would get to drive the patrol car, "did you show Buck that new mic? Why don't you take it outside and see what its range is?"

"Sure. C'mon, Buck."

Buck's look said more than words could have, but Chris just picked up his paperwork and the ledger and waited for him to move, flashing him a grin in passing. Buck was a sucker for the kid and, when he admitted it, interested in the workings of the toys JD bought. 

They'd have headed home by three or so at the latest, since it was the weekend and they were still technically on downtime, but Josiah and Nathan kept going out to work on tracing their case load, and Vin still hadn't called and they didn't want to turn around to drive back and get him. "What do you want to do?" he asked Buck, hoping he would come up with something interesting. 

"Nothing to do, now that you've paid everybody." Buck looked around. "Bank deposits I guess."

There was always plenty to do around here, and Buck knew it. "You want to finish the expense reports from the Wilson thing?" Chris tried; he'd been avoiding it for weeks now, and Orrin could only be pushed so far before he refused compensation. 

"Ez did 'em," Buck shot back, grinning even wider.

Chris cleared his throat. He had half a mind to give Ezra the responsibility of everyone's expense report filing because he was perfect at it, but Ezra would rebel, and he was too valuable anyway. They needed him more for everything else he did well. Slick little snot, Chris thought fondly. They needed an office manager, was what they needed. "I'm gonna clear the voicemail," he said, stalling now. 

There wasn't much, but he did have two messages from Orrin's secretary, Barbara Wilson, asking him to call, and one from Gordon Winters, a liaison also at Quick Release who kept tabs on the status of some of their skips. Casey Wells had called too, tentatively reminding them that she still had no direct contact number for Mr. Tanner. 

That wasted five minutes. "You want to head on home?" he asked Buck. "Let Vin find his own way back?" he asked. 

Buck shook his head. "No. He's still hurting. We c'n hang around awhile longer. Catch a movie, maybe."

Chris shook his head. 

"Bookstore?"

"No." Letting Buck get into a bookstore with command of the car keys was like letting a little kid into a "Toys 'R' Us" with your credit card. 

Buck grinned then, a speculative gleam in his eye. "I know."

"What?"

"Come on." 

Chris considered digging his heels in, but he was bored and didn't want to work anymore, so he just nodded. When they ended up at the gun shop he wasn't really surprised, and they traded news with Jenny Brown, the owner's daughter and weekend manager. Mark Brown had been on the job until a wreck during a high-speed chase sidelined him and forced him to retire, and was a real gun aficionado. He loved weapons and history, and alongside all the newer stuff and equipment for law enforcement types, Mark had a collection of antiques, six-shooters and carbines, from Peacemakers to single-load musket types. Chris liked to fondle them all, but had never been a collector. 

Buck pulled out an old Colt .45 Peacemaker that he always gravitated to, and Chris wondered if he'd really want to own the thing. Seemed more that he just liked to spin it around his finger and pretend to fast-draw, neither of which he was much good at but the picture always made Chris choke back a smile. 

He came that close to buying a little .410 for hunting quail, but Buck reminded him how much he hated cleaning fowl, and he ended up just buying more ammunition for the armory they already had. 

By five, Vin still hadn't called and they'd already missed the hours of operation for the impound lot. They were both past ready to head home, but Buck tempted him with supper at a hometown diner near the office. They were half-way done with their food when Vin did call.

"You finished?" Buck asked him and got an answer. "We're only a couple of blocks from the courthouse. Come on down and get some supper," Buck urged. "Well you've still got to eat don't you?" he said, and then rang off. He looked at Chris. "He's a little upset, I think."

"A little..." Chris grunted. That was an understatement utterly typical of Buck. "He gonna be a pain?"

Buck grinned. "I doubt it. It wasn't us who did anything to him."

Vin, when he arrived, didn't show half the anger Chris expected, but it was obvious he was pissed. Maybe the walk had done him good. Or tired him out. He did order a drink first off, which Buck promptly un-ordered, and Chris stiffened, thinking for a second that violence might erupt. But Buck just said, "Antibiotics."

"I'm thirty-two years old, leave me alone. I'll take the beer," he told the waitress. Chris remembered the beer he'd handed Vin at the house, and decided to check with Buck about the guy's prescription before offering any more. 

"Suit yourself," Buck said evenly, but Chris could tell Buck was more amused than irritated at Vin's temper. "So what happened?"

"They grilled me since y'all dropped me off, that's what happened." 

"Yeah?" Buck asked, when Chris would've kept the obvious need for silence. 

Vin didn't elaborate though, just looked at the menu and ordered a burger, drank nearly the entire glass of water set out for him in one long gulp, then did the same with the beer when it arrived. 

"We'll have to pick up your truck on Monday," Buck offered.

"Bet your ass we will. Last thing I need is to be trapped in this town without even my own ride."

"Come on, now," Buck said, trying to cheer him out of his mood, and Chris would have warned Buck off if he wasn't pretty sure Buck could manage it, "it ain't that bad. We've got a nice place, you know, and you're welcome to stay for a while. Relax, drink all the beer you want," he grinned. "Hell, get shit faced, Chris and me know how to roll a guy onto his belly when he passes out."

Buck more than him, really, Chris thought, and a shadow of the past slipped over him, unsettling and unwanted. "I'll go get the car," he said, wanting a minute alone. He didn't meet Vin's eyes, or Buck's, as he stood to leave. Vin wouldn't understand, and Buck would. 

Chris stayed quiet on the drive, even though Vin had eased into the back seat and Buck had dropped a hand on his leg as soon as the seatbelts went on. Buck was quiet too, and Chris knew it was because of his own mood. He didn't try to change it though, didn't try to fill the quiet with bullshit conversation. Vin, in back, looked half asleep when Chris checked him in the rearview. 

When they got to the house, Vin peeled off to his room, and Buck flipped over the back of the sofa to land on it, sprawled out. "Cummere."

"I'm gonna—"

"Come here," Buck said again. 

Chris walked around the sofa and balanced right on its edge, giving Buck his hand to ease his concern, and maybe to stave off the interrogation he could sense coming. But Buck only asked, "You okay?"

"Will be," he promised.

"All right." Buck didn't let go his hand. "Grab the remote." It was nice, doing nothing, and after a few minutes Chris settled more comfortably, picking up Buck's knees to sit down and then propping his folded arms across Buck's shins after. Vin wandered past, then in, drawn to the photos on the bookshelf. Chris watched him frown, no doubt at the wedding pictures—it always threw new people for a loop—and turn their way, but he shifted his eyes before Vin could meet them. Chris caught Buck shaking his head at Vin, taking care of things, and without a word Vin settled into the La-Z-Boy. The evening passed quietly, sleepily; Chris heard a snuffling sound and looked over to see Vin, his neck cricked at an odd angle, mouth hanging open, snoring softly. A glance at Buck showed him in almost the same condition, and Chris called an end to the evening before ten o'clock. 

It took awhile, after that, for the nighttime routines—Vin's dressing changed, Buck's dressing changed, a quick wander onto the back deck that all three of them made at one point or another before bed. But soon enough, the house was dark and Buck was wrapped around him like an octopus, warm and familiar, and breathing easy. "What're we gonna do tomorrow?" Chris asked, settling a little deeper into the embrace. 

"This? Sleep all day?"

Chris grinned into the dark. "Run at six."

"Wake me up at six to run and I'll break your legs," Buck rumbled. "See how well you run then."

"Six-fifteen, then."

"Okay." 

Sunday, May 20  
When he and Chris got back from their run the next morning, Buck found Vin in the living room again, staring at the family photos. "That's Sarah," Buck said after he heard his and Chris's bedroom door shut. Buck let his finger trail over the glass, outlining her face; he still missed her sometimes. "This is Adam. He was four when they both died."

He tilted his head to see how Vin was taking it, wondering if Vin might see the same parallels between himself and Buck that Buck had up on that mountain in Wyoming, with Chanu and Vin and Claire. But his face looked closed-off, hard. He prodded a little, trying to break through. "It's okay. You c'n ask. Just, probably better to ask me than Chris. He c'n get awful quiet after he talks about 'em." 

"Sarah, you said," Vin asked, his voice still off. "Her name was Sarah?" 

"Yeah. Sarah Connelly. She kept her maiden name 'cause she'd written her dissertations under it and thought maybe she'd go back to teaching college…" he trailed off. "Vin?"

"You said she died in a car explosion?" he asked tightly, and Buck felt sort of bad for him, walking into his own shit down here and then stumbling over Chris's. "Yeah. The gas tank on her car blew. We never found conclusive evidence of the perpetrators but Chris was set to testify against this guy, Timothy Fox. Asshole and drug dealer and not worth the dirt on the bottoms of Sarah's shoes," he said, meaning it. "Everybody on the force knew he was involved somehow and nobody could prove it." He waited a second while Vin kept staring blankly. "Vin?" 

Vin just shook his head. "Nothin'. I'm—damn. I'm sorry, Buck, sorrier than I can say." 

He squeezed Vin's shoulder. "Thanks. What're you doing today, anyway?"

Vin shrugged, still staring at Sarah's picture. Even in the photos you could see the joy in her eyes. "Nothin', as far as I know." 

"Probably just what you need." 

"You mind if I use your phone again?" Vin said, still sounding a little off. "Want to call Chanu…." 

Buck nodded unseen, thinking about how often he called his mother when something really got to him. "Any time, you don't need to ask." 

"Thanks, Buck." Vin ducked down the hall and Buck let him go. 

W&L • W&L • W&L 

Chris could recognize the tension coiling through Vin: so much sleep he felt restless, yet not enough to let him feel truly well. Twitchy, too. Chris and Buck had been out for their run but hadn't made it to the shower yet: too easy to fall onto the rug sweaty and watch the news, catch up on local sports and current events and just ignore everything else. When Vin wandered up the hall for the third time, Chris barely resisted a smirk; the guy was gonna drive himself crazy if he didn't relax. 

The screen door slammed. He shared a look with Buck, and pushed on Buck's chest when his partner made to rise. "You relax."

Standing in the kitchen door, Chris watched with a cop's eyes, noting the stiffness at hip and shoulders, the unnaturally deliberate gait. Vin had been nervous and twitchy all of last night, and Chris couldn't much blame him. 

Vin wandered around the yard, stopped to push the hammock and make it swing but didn't climb in; Chris felt a smile tug his lips when Vin reached down and tugged up a piece of long grass, chewing on the tender stem. Maybe that was all he needed, a little more nature. Chris turned away and refilled his coffee cup, canting his hip against the counter and watching out the window, a little surprised when Vin headed for the barn. He hadn't been up there in months, himself, and watching someone walking up the weed-strewn gravel drive made Chris look more critically at the structure, recognize that it needed a new coat of paint and something living in it besides rats, bugs and birds. Vin disappeared around the corner but Chris heard nothing, no creak of hinges, and that more than anything made him realize Buck was still going up there, taking care of minor maintenance, protecting the barn and the dream it stood for against their past indifference. 

The thought made him smile. 

He puttered around the kitchen for a minute, loading the breakfast dishes in the washer, cleaning off the counters and wiping down the sink, and when Vin still hadn't shown himself, grabbed a fresh cup, filled it with coffee, and added a little of the cream and sugar he'd seen Vin help himself to each morning. One glance down the hall revealed nothing, but the TV was still on: Buck was either watching, or dozing. He pushed quietly out the back door and across the yard, listening as gravel crunched and rolled under his sneakers and birds squawked and shied away from his path. 

The interior lights were on, bare incandescent bulbs breaking up the shadows but doing a worse job of it than the sun that streamed in through the propped-open door. Cobwebs and dust filtered through the light. Vin had pulled the dust cover off the old Mercury. She was a vintage beauty, far more so than either of the cars they drove today, a long line convertible with two-tone seats with vinyl cracked and oozing stuffing along the seams. 

"Sorry," Vin said, but Chris shook his head and came inside, offering the second cup. 

"Don't worry about it. We picked it up at an auction a while back. We haven't looked at it much." He paused, grinned. "I'm half-scared Buck will want to keep it… can you imagine that?" 

Vin frowned briefly, then his whole face lit up with his smile. "Little bit too much of a lady magnet?" he asked. 

Chris nodded, pleased, pleasure shifting to amusement when Vin sipped from his own cup and grimaced. He remembered suddenly Vin using all the sugar packets in that cheap motel, every single one, and shrugged it away. 

"Does it need much work?" Vin asked, turning back to the car. 

Chris grinned briefly. "Oh, yeah. Engine work, paint, replace the dash, new seat covers. Oh, and some bodywork on the tail. It'll crank but it won't stay running."

Vin nodded and looked around again, tugging the canvas back into place. Chris helped; they both worked one handed until they had it covered again. It was cool and shady in the barn, with a musty smell that was as familiar to Chris as the smell of his own sweat.

"This a hobby?" Vin asked settling himself against the fender to sip his coffee and look out at the acreage beyond. 

"Sort of. We used to have more time. We'd pick up a car, fix it up, sell it. Not so much lately. Now, though," Chris patted the car under its cover and gave Vin a small grin, "we might have all the time we need."

Vin nodded absently. "You've got a nice piece of property. How much is there?"

"Not quite 90 acres. There wasn't much out here when my wife and I.... 

"Uh," Vin mumbled a little. "Buck said something about—I'm real sorry, Chris."

"It's past." The truth was still hard to say sometimes. "Developers keep sniffing around here."

Vin whistled, low, and seemed to settle down a bit. "The land must be worth a fortune." 

Chris shrugged. "Doesn't matter, we wouldn't sell it. Sure as hell not piecemeal." 

He took another sip of his coffee. "Chris, about the money," he said, softly and Chris felt himself tense a little.

"Don't worry about it right now," he said.

"I'd have to sell everything I own to even—"

"Jess Kincaid was a friend of Travis's," Chris interrupted him, and Vin lifted his head and stared. "So is Stuart James." Chris's green eyes observed him shrewdly. "Orrin's a little anxious to get to the truth."

"Then why not leave me—aw, shit," Vin said and slid off the car, jarring his side enough to make him grit his teeth. "I'm not interested in another interrogation."

Chris let that comment slide by, and asked anyway. "You want to tell me what really happened down there?" 

"That why you brought me out here?" he asked, more bitter than he should have been, more bitter than he had any right to be. 

"We brought you out here," Chris said evenly, "because Buck's taken a shine to you."

"Lucky me."

"More than you know," Chris said cryptically. "Now what really happened in that lake house?"

"I told you already. Told Buck, told the D.A., told the feds," Vin said. 

"You spent over five hours with the US attorneys yesterday, Vin. I sure haven't heard that long a story yet."

"I didn't kill him," Vin said stubbornly. 

"But you didn't see Eli Joe do it either."

Vin shook his head and tossed out the rest of the coffee. 

"You were after him on an outstanding warrant. You said you followed him to Texas, so why didn't you take him when you had the chance?" Chris said, and there was no edging around the fact that Vin must have had chances or that if he'd taken Eli Joe, Kincaid might still be alive. 

"I kept missing him," Vin admitted. He turned and stared again at Chris, daring him to pass judgment, but Chris had more time than Vin did, so he waited him out. "He's mean as a snake and he don't care who he hurts, Chris." 

"Then why didn't you pick him up? That warrant in Oklahoma's been out for almost a year." 

Vin ran a nervous hand through his hair, pushing it back off his face. "I can't… I didn't even—listen, it's not—shit. Eli Joe knows me pretty good, all right? Better'n I ever knew him, it looks like."

"You saying you couldn't get to him in Texas?" Chris asked, not completely sure he'd believe that. 

"Pretty much. I found him in Dallas, but he always had people around him. Too many. I'd have had to just shoot him and hope his buddies scattered, and that ain't the way I do my job. Especially in Texas." 

"What the hell do you know about him and Texas?" Chris asked. 

"Nothin' I can prove right now. Nothin' I'm gonna say to you, all right?" 

Chris just stared for a moment, then said simply, "Vin?" The guy would come clean or he wouldn't. 

"I'm not lying to you, Chris," he huffed. "I didn't think I could get him clean in Texas so I waited and followed him on." 

"What about when you got here?"

"I was too late. Didn't get there until Kincaid was out." It sounded implausible to Chris's ears, and Vin's downturned face said he knew it too. 

"Uh huh," Chris said and got up, reaching out to take the empty cup from Vin's hand. 

"I thought maybe Kincaid was going to hire him or something," Vin said. "I didn't know who Eli Joe was going to see, but I figured it was a job..."

"It was a job all right," Chris said, so mildly, and watched the words land hard. He eased back a little. "You're a bounty hunter, not a cop." 

"I'm an idiot," Vin said sourly and Chris's lips quirked up a little.

"Well, there is that," he agreed and Vin shot him a glance that was half-smile and half chagrin. Chris sighed. "There's more to it than that. You know it. I know it, and by the time they get through with you the feds and the DA are gonna know it, too."

"I was just huntin' him," Vin said and Chris caught him up in a steady gaze again.

"Bullshit. I was a cop, Tanner," he said but didn't say anything else, only started walking back to the house. 

Buck had made his way out of the house by now, and Chris snorted in spite of himself when he caught sight of Buck's bare ass on an old quilt, soaking up rays. He paused in Buck's sun, staring down and feeling the kind of silly grin on his face that he'd usually want to hide. "You showin' off?" he asked, low. 

"If you're lookin', then I'm showing off." Buck tilted his head around and grinned. "Pull up a piece of blanket. And pull off all your clothes." 

"Slut," he said with affection. "Vin's in the barn."

"I figured." 

"He'll be comin' back this way any time." The sound of the barn door banging closed made his point for him.

"So?" 

So. It'd be hard for Vin not to get a good look if he was inclined to, since the only stitch Buck had on was the white bandage on his arm. The way Buck lay spread-eagled like he was, Chris's eyes were drawn first to the lax package that rested in the shadow between open thighs. From there it was easy to measure the neat ass and trim waist and the way Buck's ribcage and shoulders broadened so easily, so naturally. The hair under his arms was dark and smooth, like that on his legs but stark against the paler skin up there. Buck's tan wasn't completely even, but the parts most exposed to the sun—everything but his ass, from the look of him right now, and Chris appreciated those skimpy running shorts of Buck's more than ever—carried that honeyed tone that made a man want to reach out and test the texture of it. Buck's long legs were the kind that would wrap around you twice—and tried, Chris knew from long experience. 

He heard boots crunching on gravel and turned to watch Vin coming back. A nod of his head signaled the all-clear and Vin walked on up beside him, casting a quick look at Buck now that Chris wasn't blocking him from Vin's view. Vin's eyes widened and he cleared his throat and Chris wondered what he saw, didn't like for a minute that he might see exactly what Chris just had. 

"Havin' a good time?" Buck mumbled. 

"Oh, yeah," Chris said, giving him a little bit of what he liked. 

"I never pegged you for a nudist, Buck," Vin chided, evading the question.

Buck barely cracked one eye open. "You're kidding, right?" Then he sighed, and seemed to melt a little deeper into the quilt. Chris watched Vin shrug, indifferent. 

"How about, I didn't picture you as much of a sun worshiper?" 

"'M not," Buck muttered. "Just tired and sore, and thought I'd bake some of it out."

"That ain't a bad idea, really." Chris smirked when Buck slid over to make room and Vin tossed him a measuring look. 

"Go ahead," he offered, using his cup to gesture and doing his best to ignore the prick of possessiveness. Buck might joke and flirt all he wanted, but to Chris’s knowledge there were lines he'd never crossed, not once since they'd been together. Chris had worried, early on—hell, damn near panicked about the thought of Buck eventually straying, but that fear had been quieted by just about every look Buck gave him, in the words and the deeds that had made this house a home again—and in the fact that Buck jumped him practically every time he lowered his guard or turned his back. "Buck's right, it'll probably make you feel better." 

He walked away before he'd have to watch Vin ease himself onto the quilt, but turned back at the porch to check—Vin had skinned off his shirt but his pants were still on. The relief was sharp and clear and annoying as all hell. Inside, Chris puttered around for a bit, putting away clothes and starting laundry before he went back to the coffee maker for a refill. 

He watched them through the kitchen window, resting easy together, asleep it looked like from the way Buck had flung an arm out so that his hand rested on Vin's leg. Something made him want to turn away so he did, a little angry at himself. Vin was a handsome man, Buck had made his own opinion clear enough... and Buck was right. Vin was good-looking, and his discomfort at seeing his lover and Vin dozing together in the sun was entirely reasonable. Still. He sipped his coffee and looked again, torn between enjoying a little time to himself, and going out there and waking them both up or just dragging one an extra foot away from the other. His faith in Buck won out and, moody now, he dug up his copy of the Ed Conlon book on New York City cops and buried himself in it. He'd wanted to read it for months and never taken the time to get past chapter one, but today seemed like the perfect opportunity and Conlon's stories a perfect distraction. 

The screen door slammed a few chapters later and Buck ambled, still naked, into the living room where Chris had settled down. "You didn't wake me up," Buck said, yawning and stretching and looking so good Chris almost put the book down. Almost. 

"Looked like you could use the rest," Chris said quietly. "Vin too."

Buck smiled. "He's still out there, snoring to beat the band. I don't think he knows how tapped out he is."

That was true enough, though Chris barely remembered being young enough not to know he was exhausted. "He gonna get sunburned?"

"Nah. And I'm betting the heat'll be good for his bruises. Glad he took off his shirt before he crashed."

Chris wanted to take that the wrong way and pushed the urge aside right along with the flare of anger. "Guess so," he said carefully. The bruises on Vin's face had looked spectacular this morning, just beginning to turn from puffy black to yellows and purples, and Chris knew his chest and side were worse. "Buck."

"Yeah?" 

"You think that fight in jail was a coincidence?"

"It'd be a big one, if it was. Where's that book you just finished?"

"Bedroom. Nightstand drawer."

"Let me put some clothes on." Buck walked off before Chris could follow either train of thought, and Chris put his book down and waited. A couple minutes later Buck came back, dressed in a tee shirt and half-buttoned jeans and carrying A Smile on the Face of the Tiger, the last book Chris had read and one he was sure Buck had purchased for the great pair of legs on the cover. It was a good thriller, though. 

Buck stretched out on the couch and opened the book, reading the foreword and what looked like the first page before dropping it to his chest. "Travis got some news from his inside guy. He said it didn't look staged, but that one of the prisoners had jumped on Vin for no real reason." Buck glanced over at him. "Not that that never happens in jail." 

"When did you hear that?"

Buck shook his head in mock-resignation. "Don't you ever check your email?"

"Oh." He ought to do that today. "Any follow-up investigation?"

"Not by the county. Nobody died. Hell, all Vin got was banged up, really. He told the guard he didn't recognize anybody." 

"Charlene's sure to know; all it takes is one look at his face."

"Unless she thinks he got those on the road," Buck said. "Best mention it to her. Just in case. Vin tell you anything interesting in the barn?"

Chris summarized then they settled down, familiar with the habit of letting a case or a problem roll around in the backs of their heads until one of them got a bright idea. Buck picked up the book again, and the TV remote, turning on ESPN Sports Center before he settled back down to read. 

"You want me to tell you what happens?" Chris asked, smiling.

Buck peered over the top—well, glared, really. "You do and I'll start reading them first again," Buck warned. Chris chuckled and waved off the threat. When Buck read a book first, he'd start telling Chris about it as soon as he saw it in Chris's hand; he just couldn't help himself. Hence their system, where Chris read almost everything that came into the house first, regardless of who bought it. 

The front door was closed and the air conditioner was running, so they didn't hear the car until a horn beeped once. Only Ezra set the alarm on his car in a place this far out of the way. "He's early," Chris said, putting his book down.

Buck glanced at the clock. "Not really. It's almost one."

"Then he's late." Chris smirked, going for the old joke that Ezra flatly refused to be exactly on time for anything. Today though, it wasn't like there was a schedule. Ezra had announced his intention to sponge off them for the day; he'd be in the hammock within an hour and griping at anyone who approached him not holding a fresh beer. At Buck's invitation, JD had opted to come along for the ride and the company.

Chris went to open the door while Buck veered toward the kitchen to throw lunch together. JD looked good, more rested already, and Ezra looked like some California beach bum in baggy shorts, a tank shirt and flip-flops. "I didn't know you even owned shoes like that," Chris said, only half-joking.

Ezra frowned, and Chris watched as he stepped gingerly through the door. "I didn't." 

It took about twelve seconds for Ezra to grab two kitchen chairs and make an ottoman for himself, and Chris saw his feet for the first time. He whistled under his breath. "Ouch."

"Why, thank you," Ezra sneered, "and only a week late."

Chris couldn't deny it. He'd had other things to worry about, like Buck's bullet wound and Vin dropping on them and the money and Whitney and the shooters in custody. Still... he knelt down and really got a look. Ezra had blistered badly on both feet at heel, ankles, ball of foot, and three toes. It looked bad now, the tender new skin pink and puffy, and tiny lines of dirt marked the edges of the torn-off skin where the blisters had been. "Well hell," he finally said, rising, "who knew you were a stoic?"

"I'm not even going to dignify that with a response," Ezra snapped, and Chris grinned. Ezra had been anything but stoic about the whole thing. 

Chris went to drag Vin in as soon as Buck finished the food. "Lunch time," he called from a few feet away, and watched as Vin woke up slowly. The difference was nice, really, a hell of a lot more calming than the scene he’d walked in on the first night Buck had tried to change Vin's bandages. Vin twitched a little, and a hand went automatically up to push back hair now dark and lank with sweat. His face looked pink, and Chris hoped that was heat and not sun because the bruises really were looking a little better, and Vin's sprawl spoke of deeper relaxation than Chris guessed he'd gotten in a while. 

"Hmm... What time'zit?"

"One. Buck made chicken salad."

"It edible?" Vin frowned, still half asleep by the look of him.

"Darned good, actually." Chicken salad, with apples and walnuts and spices Chris had yet to figure out, was one of about five dishes Buck's mom made really, really well, and Buck could duplicate them all. It was the sum total of his cooking abilities in fact. Chris offered a hand and Vin gripped his wrist, easing himself up but grunting anyway. 

"Damn," Vin muttered, and wrapped his hand around his middle.

"Need it looked at?" 

"No," Vin said, surly. 

"Okay." He bent to retrieve the quilt before Vin could, not wanting to see him try it, and hustled him on inside. "Ez and JD came up," he added in afterthought. 

Vin didn't reply. 

Chris watched as Vin settled down at the table, edging JD further down the nook bench and emptying his glass of tea in one long swallow. Before Vin could try to get up, Chris waved him down and grabbed the plastic pitcher, setting it on the table. Buck dealt out the food and Vin first sniffed, then took a tiny nibble, rolling it around in his mouth. He smiled and chomped off a bigger bite, and Chris sat back and relaxed. 

"I'm being fed canned meat?" echoed disbelievingly from the other end of the table, and Chris caught Buck's look and rolled his eyes. 

"You don't want it, I'll take it," Vin said, and made to lean past JD and grab Ezra's plate. 

Ezra snatched the plate off the table and tucked it half-under his arm, glaring. "Hands off!"

"Then quit your bitchin' and eat," Vin said placidly. "Thanks for cooking, Buck. It's good."

Ezra looked stunned. Buck looked startled for half a second and then laughed, long and rolling. "Think he'll domesticate Ez?" Buck asked in loud aside.

"I wouldn't take any bets on it," Chris grinned back, then dug in. 

"How's the research coming, kid?" Buck asked around a mouthful. 

JD shot a look toward Vin. "Uh…" 

"He's trying to—" Buck stopped. "Hey Vin, you mind letting JD into your cell phone account?" 

"What?" 

"Just want to put some pieces together." 

Vin looked ready to refuse, but relaxed again before whatever urge it was took him. "Okay."

"Don't give JD your passwords. He could clean out your bank account before you could finish that sandwich."

"Hey!" JD said, indignant. 

"Well kid," Buck said reasonably, "you could." 

"I could anyway," JD grumbled, "but I wouldn't." 

Buck didn't doubt either statement. 

After lunch Vin pushed off the table and headed onto the deck. Buck followed, watched Vin cast one quick glance back toward the kitchen door. "JD's your computer geek?" he asked. 

"And then some. He's good." 

The afternoon was a pleasant one. Predictably, Ezra hit the hammock as soon as lunch was over, and Chris made a point to wait on him a little, veering by every half hour or so with snacks or alcohol. JD dug through the shed and dragged out the boxes of sporting goods, enlisting them in a game of Frisbee golf and they just screwed around, changing games as JD changed equipment, enjoying the outdoors and a moment of relaxation—lull before the storm, Chris couldn't help but think. Vin refereed. 

Chris started up the barbeque and threw on steaks for dinner and Vin, his mood much improved, said, "I'm not buyin' groceries for your whole team, you know."

"You haven't bought 'em for anybody yet," Chris shot back, and Vin just smiled. 

Monday, May 21

Buck sprinted up the driveway after their morning run, feeling better every day and definitely feeling better than Chris who trailed behind cursing and laughing. A brief walk to catch his breath let Chris catch up too, and he preened a little while they cooled down, contentedly eying Chris's trim ass and heroically resisting the urge to say, "I got shot and I'm still faster'n you," if only because Chris would want to challenge him to a rematch and probably kick his ass. A couple of stitches had pulled out on their own and he was ready to pull the rest out himself, they were itching so much. They strolled on into the house together. 

"Right behind you," Buck said, then peeled off and turned toward Vin's room. "Hey, Vin?" he asked, rapping lightly at the door. 

"What?" came from right behind him; Buck jumped and swore when Vin chuckled. 

"Don't sneak up on a man like that in his own house!" Buck groused, rubbing at his chest and glaring in the direction of Chris's distant laughter. "You almost gave me a heart attack."

"Aww, I don't reckon you scare so easy," Vin grinned, brushing it off. 

"You mind riding in with Chris this morning?" Buck asked, refusing to give Vin any more satisfaction. "I got a stop I need to make." 

Vin shrugged. "Sure." 

"Thanks." He eased past Vin, noting that the long hair was still damp from a morning shower. "I'll come back in a second to get you bandaged up, okay?"

Vin nodded, his smile lazy and slow. "You smell good."

"Don't say it like it's a surprise," Buck grinned and took half a step closer, teasing a little. "They ought to bottle me." 

"Throttle you, more like. Go on now." Vin pushed lightly at his chest so he could slide into his room without brushing up against him. Buck took a second to enjoy the view of Vin's disappearing backside before he went his way. Vin didn't scare so easy, either. 

Chris was in their bathroom and Buck eased the shower door open. "Vin's gonna ride with you into town," he said. "I'm gonna swing by Roswell, then catch up with you." Chris nodded, so Buck left him alone to finish his shower and get out of the house. 

When he stepped out of his own shower, the pair of them had already gone. The house was quiet the way only empty places are, and Buck lingered over a second cup of coffee before he grabbed up keys and jacket and headed for the car. He didn't get much alone time—didn't need it, if truth be told, but he could appreciate it when it bumped straight into him now and again. 

An hour later he stood up from the hard chairs in the waiting area and offered up a smile to the detectives working Kincaid's case. Paul Orwell, paunchy and tallish and pushing fifty, was obviously looking forward to retirement. He was also the good cop of the pair, which worked fine by Buck. "Help yourself to coffee, Mr. Wilmington," he said, nodding to the pot. 

"Thanks, I'm good. So how'd that new crime scene investigation turn out on Jess Kincaid's place?"

"Nothing conclusive," Janice Gray muttered. "You have something for us?" She was plump and juicy, in her late thirties with a not-pretty face, and just as obviously the bad cop. 

Buck cleared his throat and made a point of directing his eyes and his smile at Gray. "I was hopin' y'all might have something for me." 

"Funny," Orwell said with a grin, "we were hoping the same thing. You said you might be able to offer harder evidence, information we could use."

"I still might. I can't yet. But it's looking better, if everything paid off with the second crime scene investigation. Listen, about that report." 

A little horse-trading ensued then, in which Buck promised any information they could use the minute he found it, and they reviewed the details of the new report with Buck. He couldn't have asked for much more, but kept his pleasure to himself. These poor detectives had made their own case harder: More accurate, more honest, more likely to help convict the real killer, but harder nonetheless. He couldn't wait to tell Vin. 

"Listen, Tanner's attorney might be calling you."

"And why would he do that?" Gray said. 

"Because I was asked about additional information and pointed him your way, is all. The county guy, Horowitz. DA ought to get it too, so it's not like Tanner's attorney wouldn't see it eventually." 

"Wilmington, whose side are you on?" she demanded. 

Buck smiled. "Side of truth and justice, ma'am. Just like Superman." It was a stupid line, and usually got a laugh or a scowl. Gray scowled. 

He called Chris from the parking lot. "Whitney's prints turned up, and the attempted arson idea looks like it panned out. Chris, Whitney's prints were right on the hardwood floor, not far from where Vin fell. Three out of five, clear as day." 

"Nice. You get a copy of the report?" 

"Nope. Told 'em the attorneys would be calling, figured we could get a copy from Horowitz if we need. Keeps things smoother." 

"Whatever." Chris was rarely interested in Buck's opinion of smooth because it involved being friendly with too many people. "See you later." 

Buck rang off and maneuvered through morning traffic, surprised not to find Chris and Vin when he made it to the office. 

"They were only here for a couple of minutes," JD filled him in. "They went hunting for more evidence on Whitney. Something about tracking his car to the motel he used in Cascade Heights. Here." JD handed across a scribbled note about a blue '92 Chevy and its Colorado license plate number. "Chris said you can give that to the detectives." 

Buck smiled at Chris's handwriting—guy ought to have been a doctor—and nodded to himself. The detectives would be glad to see a little reciprocation, and maybe somebody had seen the car up by Kincaid's house and could put him there at the time of the crime. Nosey neighbors were a godsend, sometimes. "Sure." 

After he phoned the detectives with the new intel, he settled in to answering the phones and tracing skips—not his forte anymore, but at least he could do that without making his shoulder itch any more than it did right now. It was nice to relax in air-conditioned comfort and hassle JD. It was nice working around the men he'd come to know so well, to feel certain Vin's chances were improving with every minute, every new piece of information they turned over. 

Chris got back less than an hour later and slid into the folding chair beside him. "Motel had camera coverage of its parking lot," he said with a tight grin. "A hundred bucks bought us a copy of that week's tape, and the kid at the desk promised to keep it handy for the police." Chris rattled a VHS case at him. 

"Great. Where's Vin?" 

"Federal Building. You know," Chris said, rattling the tape again, "Vin's story's actually starting to sound credible." 

Buck grinned. They were definitely closing in on reasonable doubt. The best thing Vin had going for him was that men had tried to kill him, and Buck and Chris had witnessed it both times. But it was good to see Chris taking Vin's side, obviously shoring up his resources for Vin's defense. He'd watched those two together and just known they'd warm up to each other. Chris tolerated all kinds of people, but he didn't warm up to many. Buck was invested in Vin's case, had been since they'd made their deal up on that mountain. It was good to feel like Chris's gut was getting the same feeling about Vin that Buck had. 

"Well," Chris settled back, "might as well get to work." 

Vin was gone all morning, and when he did show up he looked wrung out and pale. Buck felt more than a pang of sympathy for what Vin was going through, and wondered why his family or friends hadn't shown up down here yet. He'd have come if it'd been Chris in the frying pan, and Chris would've done the same for him. It bothered him more than a little, the fact Vin didn't have anybody, the way he carried himself so alone. Independence was all well and good, but isolation? It flat-out sucked, to Buck's mind. 

"Hey, Vin!" he said heartily as soon as he'd hung up the phone. "You're lookin' good, pard." Vin frowned at him and scrubbed a surreptitious hand through his hair, pulling hard on it. "Headache?" 

"A few of 'em," Vin said with a tiny smile, and waved away his concern. "I'm all right." 

Before Buck could get another word in, Ezra stepped up, arms crossed over his chest but a pleasant enough look on his face as he scrutinized Vin's. 

"Welcome back, Mr. Tanner. I see you're continuing to recover well?"

"Yeah," he said, "I'm doin' all right." 

Buck took notice of the fact that both JD and Nathan were staring at him, and Buck mock-growled, "What's the matter, y'all never seen five hundred grand on the hoof before?" He used a hand to steer Vin around, letting Ezra handle the introductions. 

"Nathan Jackson," Ezra said.

"Howdy." 

"Good to meet you, Vin," Nathan replied. Buck grinned when Nathan shook his hand so carefully and his dark eyes slipped down toward Vin's injured side. 

"Watch yourself, Vin, or he'll try to operate on you," Buck asided. Vin looked confused; Nathan looked annoyed. Buck grinned. "His wife's an M.D."

"Oh."

"And you know John."

"JD," JD growled. 

Ezra ignored him. "He's a terrible driver. Don't ever trust him behind the wheel." 

"Hey!" JD spluttered just as his phone rang. Buck tried not to laugh at the helpless glare JD shot toward Ezra's back, and shared a look with Vin, whose eyes crinkled with mirth. 

"Hey, JD thanks for the help," Vin said, and when JD gave Vin a part proud, part "aww shucks" look and Vin flashed a megawatt smile like he really valued JD's work, Buck decided he liked Vin even more. JD was a barometer of sorts for Buck; folks who liked him were generally folks Buck would like. He could guess what Vin was thinking, about eager beavers or cradle robbing… wondered for a second if he ought to tell Vin to steer clear of the kid in that respect, but let it go. Vin was a decent man and still injured, and JD could take care of himself. 

Ezra went on. "You may remember Josiah."

"Yep." Vin extended his hand, didn't flinch when Josiah grabbed it up in a firm grip. "Josiah."

"Vin. How're they treating you?"

"Chris and Buck?" Vin raised his eyebrows. "Great." 

Buck chuckled when Josiah threw him a look. "The prosecutors," Josiah clarified, and Vin's grin faded away. 

"All right," he said, uncomfortably enough that Buck jumped on it. 

"What'd they say?"

Vin frowned. "Nothin'. For two and a half hours."

"Vin…" 

"Tried to hem me in about Kincaid," Vin admitted. "I told 'em what I saw, some stuff I knew about Whitney, and about that tape we picked up this morning. That I saw him in Dallas with Stuart James."

"That's almost more'n you've told us so far," Buck said, trying not to push. He had the feeling Vin was on an edge somehow, and nobody'd thank him if he pushed Vin into running after all. 

"You know," he said, looking around, "y'all have shitty office space." 

Buck shrugged. It had been great when they'd rented it, but there'd only been four of them then and lots fewer records to maintain. He had to admit they had outgrown the place. File cabinets took up a whole wall now, and five desks meant he and Chris were jammed into the cubbyhole Ezra had once tried to commandeer. It was a little cramped, a little crowded—he wondered if the walls were closing in on Vin. "We manage," he said, mild, and for some reason Vin shot him a grin. "You got anything to do?" Buck asked after a minute. 

"No." 

Buck considered. "You want to go on out to the house?" he asked. He looked better, he looked almost healthy again in fact, the wound healing up nice and not seeming to cause him too much trouble. That was good. But he still looked ragged around the edges and bone-tired.

Vin hesitated too long, then shook his head. 

"You might want to go out and buy yourself a new phone…" 

"Yeah. Yeah." 

"All right then. Let's go rustle up some grub and get your truck back. Then I'll tell you where the phone store is." 

The three of them went out together and took Vin to get his truck out of impound after lunch. That was the first time either of them saw it; Chris shared a look with Buck, half-amused at that wreck. The thing looked held together by rust, spit, and baling wire. 

"You like driving around a piece of junk like that?" Buck, never one to stand on ceremony, asked.

"She's a beauty." Vin said it like he meant it.

"It doesn't even deserve to be called 'she'," Buck huffed, defending women everywhere, and Chris snickered. 

"She's in better shape than your muscle cars," Vin challenged, and Chris cut in before either of them could get serious. 

"Let's go. Vin, you can follow us back to the office." Buck slid behind the wheel and Chris settled into the passenger seat. He tried hard to smooth ruffled automotive feathers. "I doubt that truck is really falling apart."

"I'll bet you it is. Even if it isn't, the body's dinged up, it's got cancer on the roof—you saw that, didn't you?"

"Yeah," Chris said, to fill the barely perceptible space between one sentence and the next.

"Hell, even if the engine's perfect, I don't want to think about how much time and money it'd take to get that thing back into shape."

Chris jerked his head around, surprised, because Buck never said he didn't want to think about something unless he already had. "You lookin' for a new hobby?" he asked, and Buck frowned. Chris just waited, and after a minute Buck glanced in the rearview where Vin was tailing them down 13th Street.

"Any way you look at this, Vin's gonna be here awhile."

"I suppose." Chris hadn't considered that "here" might mean their home, and he was more than a little worried that Buck did. 

"Might give him something to do."

Chris grinned. "You mean besides sunbathing shirtless so you can ogle him? I saw you lookin'." 

Buck's hand slid briefly over his thigh and squeezed. "Lookin's no crime." 

Chris remembered the back of Buck's hand resting on Vin's leg, and frowned. "Why don't you get him to restore that Mercury? He was checking it out yesterday." 

"Could, I reckon." He checked the rearview again. "I just don't want him broke down with no ride."

"Buck..." Chris wasn't inclined to agree with anything Buck had just said, and even less inclined to agree with what Buck hadn't. "When he figures out how long he's gonna be here, he'll find his own place."

"I don't think so," Buck said, just musing, like he was rolling it around in his head even as he spoke. "He's comfortable, needs the space. He likes us—well, me." Buck flashed his teeth. "You'll grow on him over time."

"Thanks."

Buck ignored him. "If you were staying with people you were comfortable with who understood your situation, would you trade that?"

"Who says he's comfortable with us?" Vin looked more relaxed every day, but an undercurrent of something ran through him and Chris wasn't sure it was all about the charges. 

"You kiddin'? He's got everything he needs with us except hot and cold running women—men," Buck corrected himself before Chris could laugh at him. "I'm serious, Chris, what's he gonna do? Find some dive motel room where the only way he has to kill time is stare at the walls and get drunk?"

Chris's answer might have been different to Buck's and they both knew it, but Buck had a point and they both knew that too. Vin seemed more like him than Buck, but Buck had his mother's skill at reading people when he actually paid attention. "Time and money, huh?" he asked, flipping down the sun visor and using the mirror there to check out Vin's truck. "Looks like we might have enough of both."

"That's the spirit," Buck said.

Chris frowned at his lover, not completely sure Buck knew what he was letting them in for, and not particularly sure himself. But it would be good to pull out their threadbare jeans and oil-stained shirts and climb around an old beater, maybe turn it into something magic... there were worse things they could do with their time. "We'd have to contract out some of our skips," he ventured. 

"So? It's not like we're hurtin' for cash, and everybody needs a break. Hell Chris, Nathan's wife is eight months pregnant. We'll have to scale back when she has that kid or we'll lose business when Nathan's on half-time."

Buck was right. Maybe it was time for some well-earned rest. 

Vin waved at them and drove on past the office, stayed gone for a couple of hours, and when he came back he looked even better. More rested, if more annoyed. 

"Where you been?" Buck asked, pulling his hand away from Chris's back; it was giving Chris trouble today, and Buck kept catching himself trying to rub the tension out of it. 

"Just driving around."

Buck wondered about that but he didn't push. "You called Travis?" When Vin frowned he added, "Quick Release will want to know how to get in touch. You should be checking in, you know."

"Yeah. I'll call 'em. Listen…" Vin hesitated, and Buck grinned as the room went silent. "Thought maybe I'd go back to your place, lie down for a bit." He looked embarrassed, but Buck just stretched to his full height and drummed his knuckles on the ceiling of their cubbyhole. 

"Good idea. Chris? You ready?" 

"I look ready?" he asked, fanning his hand over the stack of work on his desk. 

Buck ignored it. "Come on."

"You drove in yourself, go home yourself." Buck just looked at him until Chris reddened slightly and pulled out his own keys. "Follow us," he said to Vin. Buck followed Chris to their cars. 

On the highway, Chris kept checking his rearview to make sure Vin was right behind him. He couldn't help but wonder if Buck was right, if Vin Tanner would stick around their place for long. He couldn't imagine it himself, but then he couldn't imagine having to go through something like this alone anymore either. He hadn't had to go anything alone in so many years he'd almost forgotten what it was like. 

He pulled out his phone and called Buck, who was right behind Vin on the road. "How's his truck holding up?" he asked, just able to make out Buck's body behind the wheel a few car lengths back. 

"Looks pretty good," Buck replied after a second. 

Chris grinned. "Hurts to admit it, huh?"

Buck huffed and hung up on him. 

They hadn't been home half an hour before Buck bent over him on the couch and pushed his book off his lap. "Come outside."

"What's wrong with coming in here?" he teased with a grin. 

"If I thought you were serious, nothing. Vin and me are gonna go get some rays. Come with us." 

Chris felt his face tighten and shook his head, trying not to let it get to him. "This why you wanted me home?" he asked, careful with his voice and his tone. Buck looked confused. "To make sure you've got a chaperone?"

Buck grinned and kissed him on the nose before Chris could turn his head. "Yeah, that's it. Come on, it's a beautiful day and we could all use the break."

"Not interested," he muttered. He wasn't even looking at Buck now even though Buck's face was less than a foot from his. 

The mustache tickled his cheek and then his ear before Buck breathed soft words into it: "You know you're hot when you're jealous?"

Denying it would only amuse his partner so he didn't bother. "Get off me."

"You're kind of making me want to get on you, Chris," Buck chuckled and nuzzled at his ear. 

"Not gonna happen," he said irritably, and reached to push Buck away. 

He heard Buck sigh but still wouldn't turn to meet his eyes. "You know where the yard is if you want to catch up," Buck said, "or you can sulk in here by yourself," and left him there. 

Chris sat and seethed a little while Vin and Buck made noise in the house, and then the back door slammed. He gave himself five minutes to talk himself out of it then broke down and snuck into the kitchen for a peek out into the yard. 

He wasn't surprised to see Buck's bare ass, and maybe less surprised to find that Vin had stripped down to his briefs this time. Chris cursed under his breath. He just stood there and looked at them for a few minutes, wondering what they were talking about—and they were talking, Vin on his back with his head turned Buck's way, Buck on his belly like he'd been before, his cheek resting on one folded arm. 

Stubbornness was the only thing that kept him from joining them, that and the fact that Buck had probably been thinking about this since they left work. Maybe before, the way Buck had hustled him out of the office. The two of them out there alone pissed him off, which was his own damned fault. Hell, Buck wanted him out there… and the sun would feel good. He knew he'd feel better if he went out there with them instead of lurking inside thinking the worst of Buck. 

It was that thought that drove him to the bedroom for a little pair of running shorts Buck had bought him awhile back, trying to ignore how pale his belly looked—pale and old, he thought, annoyed all over again—and then out onto the deck. "You all got room for one more out there?" he called.

Buck turned his head and then knelt up on the quilt. "Hey there! Sure do, stud!" Vin grinned and squirmed over, putting more space between himself and Buck.

Maybe, he thought as he walked barefoot onto the cool grass, Buck just wanted his company. Buck usually did, he remembered, and that thought eased the burn in his belly more than anything else—that, and the fact that jealousy was a no-win game that would only entertain Buck anyway. He raised an eyebrow when he reached them and Buck smiled at him, all soft and pleased, and patted the empty space in the middle. 

Easing onto the quilt on his back, he propped himself up with his elbows, the sun already soaking into his skin. "Nice." 

"Told you," Buck said, and reached for the tube of sunscreen. In Chris's experience the application of sunscreen was as much foreplay for Buck as… well, plenty of other things were, and he couldn't help but grin. But he didn't argue—hell, he had worked himself around to welcoming it. 

"Buck was tellin' me about the Mercury," Vin said easily from his other side while Buck's big hand smoothed cream across his stomach cold enough to make him hiss. 

"Yeah. Thought we might drag it out this weekend, do a little work on it. Get on your truck while the tools are out, if you want?" 

"That'd be nice," Vin said, sounding deeply content. 

Chris looked over at him, but Vin's eyes were closed. The bruising on his face was steadily fading, and the rest of him looked boneless where he sprawled. Boneless, and damned good. He understood why Buck kept looking. 

Buck's dirty chuckle made him flush and jerk his eyes away, but all he found on his partner's face was fond amusement. Maybe Buck had wanted Chris to chaperone, but Chris knew in his gut that it was more for Chris's comfort than Buck's. Thanks, he mouthed, letting Buck take it however he would, then fell fell flat onto his back and came damned close to purring as sunscreen got rubbed up over his chest, down his arms… just under the waistband of his shorts…. 

Slapping the hand away would be too much trouble, he decided, and squeezed his eyes tighter against the glare of the sun. After a few minutes during which Buck rubbed sunscreen inches higher under the hem of the shorts than was strictly necessary, all the way down to his feet and then gently up his neck to finish over his nose and cheeks, Chris was purring. He felt more relaxed than he'd been in a long time, the sun and Buck's hands warming him, the quiet sounds of breathing and the subtle shifts from Vin beside him adding to the ease of it all. 

Beside him Vin shifted, then shifted again, and Buck's chuckle told him Vin was probably checking him out. It was hard not to squirm—he was far past his prime and he knew it—and equally hard not to think about how his cock had thickened under the heat of sun and Buck's methodical hands. It wasn't like he'd sprung a pup tent in his shorts but he knew he was hard enough for it to be obvious, knew too that it didn't pay to get this comfortable around a relative stranger…

Vin cleared his throat and Chris squinted his eyes open. "Reckon I ought to go in," Vin said vaguely, and he looked as uncomfortable as Chris had felt before. 

"Nah Vin," Buck chided, "you just relax. I'm gonna fetch us a few beers. Be right back."

Chris tightened his belly just before Buck pushed himself up off it, and watched Vin watch Buck go, bare ass and long legs and all. 

Vin caught him watching and color sprang up on his cheeks. "Sorry," he muttered. 

"There something to be sorry for?" he asked, and turned to watch Buck too. He wasn't inviting the staring, but he wasn't so ignorant as to think it was something a man could strictly control. 

"You tell me," Vin said warily. 

Chris turned his head away from the house and met Vin's stare head-on even though the sun was high and half-blinding. "Vin, if I got worried every time somebody looked at him I wouldn't have time for anything else. Looking's no crime." To make his point he glanced once at Vin, hiding his surprise when he realized Vin wasn't exactly unaffected by sun and blankets and Buck either. Maybe more than Buck; they'd likely been putting on a bit of a show. He shrugged and closed his eyes again, seeing after-images of Vin's shape against the black of his eyelids. It bothered him some. Looking was no crime but he wasn't the sort to tempt himself, pretty much exactly the opposite of Buck where other people were concerned. "You have something you think you need to confess, you let me know." 

With his eyes closed he could only hear Vin and feel the subtle tugs on the quilt. He guessed the guy had settled down again—hoped he had. "He's too vain for his own good," Vin groused from beside him. It made Chris laugh a little, and he opened his eyes against his better judgment; Vin looked completely off-balance. 

"He'd say it's entirely warranted." 

"Not sure he's wrong," Vin huffed. It amused Chris, to hear somebody at odds with their attraction to his partner. Amused him and made him want to preen a little. He knew what he had, had known ever since he'd opened his eyes and realized what was between them. He supposed every man appreciated it when somebody else noticed such things, and with Buck he didn't get it like he had with women. Less envy from most men, more confusion and discomfort. Too much poorly veiled annoyance from women, so he'd learned not to pay attention…. 

The screen door slammed before he could think much more on it, and Buck ambled out with three longnecks. He swiveled his head and knew that Vin, beside him, had too. But when Buck got close he just grinned down at Vin. "You eyeing my man?" he asked. 

Chris startled and turned to look; there it was again, the flush along cheeks and ears that had nothing to do with the sun. He smiled, a bit surprised and pleased and feeling a few years younger for it, and Vin glared at him. "You're too vain for your own good too, Larabee."

"Ain't vanity when it's just the truth, son," Buck said, and eased himself back down. "Here you go." 

They both took their beers from him and then Buck settled back down, took two long, throat-working swallows before propping his bottle in the grass and falling back with a sigh. 

Chris turned his head and met Vin's eyes, a quiet truce of some kind passing between them. He clinked his bottle against Vin's and they both swallowed before Vin stretched back out. After a second, a little unnerved to be surrounded by all the near-nakedness for all that he was used to Buck, Chris did too. 

An hour passed languidly, Buck and Vin talking over him a little, Buck applying more sunscreen in unneeded places when Chris turned onto his belly and teasingly offering to slick Vin up too. Vin flushed and refused, and Chris smirked a little. Smart man. 

"Thanks, y'all," Vin said after a time. "I mean it. I don't know what kind of trouble I'd have gotten up to if I'd been stuck in a motel somewhere."

Buck poked him in the side but Chris wouldn't open his eyes. "Yeah, it's always better to share your troubles with your friends," Buck said to Vin.

Vin jerked a little beside him; he could feel the tug on the quilt, and the tension that followed fairly bleeding off the man. 

"Yeah, all right," was all Vin said. 

Chris frowned at Buck, but Buck wasn't looking at him. Propped up on his good arm he was staring across Chris's back at Vin, a thoughtful look on his face. "Buck…" he warned, of what he didn't know himself. 

Buck caught his eye and lay back down. "Do your part then," he said, dropping the sunscreen tube right between Chris's hot shoulders. Chris knelt up and did, getting some of his own back when he reached the paler ass cheeks until Buck wriggled his groin against the quilt and sighed. He heard rustling behind him and wondered if Vin were watching or turning his head away. He thought maybe he ought to feel guilty, but he couldn't bring himself to as Buck's muscles bunched against his smoothing hands. He ought to, but all he felt was hot, sun-hot and Buck-hot and, he forced himself to admit, heated up by the idea of someone looking at them, liking what he saw…. Shit. He was getting as bad as Buck. 

Three hours later while the sun lowered outside and he and Vin washed up the supper dishes, he realized he could take some comfort that he'd never, ever be as bad as Buck. 

Buck, who was on his cell phone, his voice getting louder as he walked into the kitchen. "I appreciate you saying it, but the guy's down here on his own. Why is that?"

Chris winced even before he turned his head and caught the look on Vin's face. 

"I'm not saying anything, except that he's down here alone," Buck plowed on, oblivious to Vin's flashfiring anger as he dug into a cabinet for potato chips. 

"Give me that phone, Buck," Vin growled, holding out his hand. 

Buck pivoted away. "Let go!" Buck said to Vin, and Chris closed his eyes against the inevitable fight. Why the hell couldn't Buck see more than two feet in front of his face sometimes? Into the phone Buck said, "Yeah?" and his face softened a little. "Well that's real nice to hear, but—" 

When Vin shoved Buck back against the refrigerator and wrested the phone from his hand, Chris didn't try to step in. 

"Chanu? Oh." And then Vin switched languages, cutting them out. Buck glared at Vin for a long minute and Chris watched him while they both listened, trying to infer things from Vin's tone of voice. It sounded soft enough, apologizing maybe, the thick consonants making it hard to guess much. Vin caught them both looking and glared, then said in English, "Buck's a busybody, worse'n Chanu's mom ever was. You don't have to talk to him." 

"Hey!" Buck objected and took a step forward, but Chris caught his arm to hold him back. 

"Leave it," he ordered curtly. 

"Yeah," Vin said into the phone while he kept a glare leveled at Buck. "You know I would. I'll call you later, sister. My babysitter here is gettin' restless." Whatever Claire Reeves said brought a smile to Vin's eyes if not his face, and Chris relaxed a little. 

Vin hung up the phone and tossed it at Buck. "Don't you do that again, Buck, I'm warning you."

"Oh, you're warning me," Buck shot back, his blood high. Buck was a big guy and he wasn't used to being pushed around. 

"Yeah Buck, I am! You'd best heed it." Vin turned and stormed out the kitchen door. 

Chris watched the anger on Buck's face melt into confusion as Buck watched him go. "Leave him be," he tried. 

"You know what she said, Chris?" Buck asked, still frowning at the door. "She said Vin told 'em he did have friends here."

"Then why are you pissed off?" 

Buck glared at him, distracted. "Because he sure as hell wasn't acting like it just then." Buck frowned. "I wouldn't let strangers stand in for me, if you were the one in a pile of shit. And you wouldn't either. I'm going after him." 

Like that was a surprise. Chris sighed and followed out the door. At least he could keep it from coming to blows. Probably. "Let him cool down a little," he tried to advise, not that he expected Buck to listen. 

"And wind himself up even more?" Buck asked, hopping off the deck to the grass and heading for the barn. 

"If that's what he wants to do, yes," Chris said. "Buck." He didn't reach out, didn't try to hold Buck back. He didn't need to manhandle his partner when his voice would do just fine. Buck slowed and then stopped in the middle of the gravel drive, face pinched tight with frustration. "We'll fetch him back," Chris promised. "But pard, you've gotta let him handle things his own way. He ain't you." 

"He sure as hell ain't," Buck huffed, but when he started walking again his gait was calmer, looser as they strolled through lengthening shadows up the road, and he stopped altogether when they rounded the barn and found Vin standing just inside the shadow of the door. 

"You all right, Vin?" Chris asked before Buck could. 

"Don't call my family again, Buck," he said, ignoring Chris. 

"We're just tryin' to look out for you, Vin," Buck said. He was careful now, like he'd always been with rape victims and injured witnesses and anybody too wounded to recognize a helping hand. Chris himself felt surprise that neither of them had realized Vin was one of those people until pretty much right this minute. 

"Nobody asked you to, all right?"

"Yeah, I know. Nobody has to ask me to help out a friend, doesn't matter how new that friend is. As for old friends… Vin? What's so wrong with wanting your friends around you when things are hard?" Chris watched the tension playing through Vin's body, thinking Buck's magic wasn't going to work this time. Not everybody fell for it. Not everybody wanted it or could afford it. 

But then Vin blew out a hard breath that took most of his tension with it. He eased into a crouch, hands clasped together between his knees. Chris moved until his back was against the barn door and he could keep an eye on Buck while Vin hovered in and out of his peripheral vision. 

"You just don't quit, do you," Vin muttered. 

"I try not to," Buck said, and Chris felt a smile rise up; Buck wasn't being prideful. He was just there, all big heart and caring and too-fast promises that he kept whenever he could. 

Vin cast Chris a sour look but Chris just shrugged, a 'don't look at me' move he hoped would convey that he would never have called Vin's friends in the first place, not even as a favor. This was all Buck. 

Buck knelt down to match Vin's position and waited, hands clasped, head tilted low to catch Vin's eyes if Vin just looked his way. 

It took a while, long enough that Chris was getting bored and ready to head back up to the house now that he was sure they wouldn't come to blows, but finally Vin rocked a little on his heels and looked up. "I don't want them here. Don't want 'em spending their money or pawning the kids off on the rest of the family. Don't want 'em worrying more than they have to. And I sure as hell don't want to watch them worry when there's not a damned thing they can do." 

"I wouldn't say that, Vin," Buck started, and held up a hand when Vin's eyes flashed fire. "Sometimes, people come together to help themselves, too."

"That what you're doing, Buck?" he snapped. 

"No, but it would be if Chris were the guy with his head in the noose. I wouldn't just sit back and let him go through it alone." 

"They wouldn't either." Vin blew out another breath. "Didn't want to. Chanu was all set to…. The only thing I can do to protect 'em is to stay away, and make them stay away. You'd best explain that to Claire, and soon, or she'll be on the next plane and screw what I want." 

Chris looked Buck's way, shared a speaking glance. "What you want?" he asked Vin, still looking at Buck. 

"What I want."

Chris grinned at Buck. "So you wanna stay here then? Let me keep a nice, tight rein on Buck while you get your spirit back up?"

Vin snorted at that. "Think he'd like it too much."

"I would," Buck affirmed with a bright grin. 

Chris rolled his eyes. "Gettin' dark. Come back in, you two."

He pushed off the barn wall and headed toward the house, and they both followed. 

Tuesday, May 22

Buck was still in his running clothes and Chris and Vin were arguing in the kitchen over how to scramble eggs when Buck heard the FedEx truck rumbling up the drive, its big diesel engine in low gear echoing enough to make the windows rattle. It squeaked to a stop on a crunch of gravel and Buck headed out, waiting on the porch for the driver to approach balancing three large boxes and carrying one of those big tubes people used for maps and blueprints. "I have a delivery for Alvin Tanner?"

Buck grinned at that, still delighted to hear Vin's name although, thus far, he'd not teased him too much about it. "I'll get him."

He didn't do any more than stick his head inside the screen door. "Alvin! Got a package for you!"

Vin came in from the back, the scowl on his face pretty much what Buck expected. "I will find out what that 'Buck' is hiding, asshole," Vin muttered, looking grumpy, but Buck thought he saw amusement too in the blue eyes, like Vin approved of a kid's prank but didn't want to encourage that kind of behavior. His steps slowed a little when he saw the FedEx driver, then quickened, and he pushed through to sign for it, holding the boxes a little numbly.

Like a dog that smelled chicken cooking, Chris showed up as well, leaning into Buck's shoulder while Vin came back into the house. "That what you've been waiting for?" he asked, his own reluctance to pry buried under his annoyance over Vin not telling them anything.

"I hope so," Vin said, and set the boxes down on the back of the sofa before pulling out his pocketknife. He fingered each one, looking at the labels, and set one aside without even cutting the seal. 

"What's that one?" Buck asked, zeroing in on it so fast that Chris had to smile. 

"Stuff you ain't seeing," Vin grumbled, a lot more serious than he'd been at the door. He used his knife to cut open the other two. 

Chris quieted Buck's comeback with a look and stepped forward, taking over harassment duty; he was better at it anyway and they both knew it. Inside were a bunch of overstuffed manila envelopes and a single letter-sized envelope with Vin's name on it. Vin peeled that open and glanced over the short missive written in something definitely not English before folding it up and tucking it into the back pocket of his jeans.

Each big yellow envelope had folders and smaller envelopes inside, like some kind of weird literary nesting box, but one folder Vin opened and let out a breath, slowly. It was strange to watch because his stance didn't really change much, except that suddenly there was far less tension in his body as he flipped through what Chris belatedly realized were photographs. He stepped up, curiosity overcoming his desire to give Vin some privacy here, and peered down. "Vin?" he asked, resting a hip against the sofa back. Vin looked up and a smile twitched the corner of his mouth. He held out the folder to Buck before easing down on the arm of the sofa to poke through the rest of the files, and Buck shot Chris a superior look.

Chris rolled his eyes but craned his neck over Buck's shoulder to see. Inside were makeshift photo albums, mostly just the plastic sheets you slipped 3x5s into, the different stacks held together with big black binder clips. Plenty were empty, but plenty more held pictures of Eli Joe. He was easily recognizable, younger and slicker looking than when they'd met him or last seen him. "Where's the rest of the pictures, Vin?" Buck asked, flapping an empty plastic sleeve for emphasis. 

"I don't know," Vin said. Chris exchanged a look with Buck that Vin caught. "I don't. I think—hell." Vin reached out and flipped half way through the album Buck held, past pages and pages of empty sheets—Chris raised his eyebrows at Buck in question and got the same answer back—to a set that looked more recent. "This is the important stuff." 

Half a dozen pictures showed Eli Joe in some kind of intense conversation with James on the outside patio of a restaurant that Chris was pretty sure they could track down to Dallas, from the size of the cowboy hats. Another set showed the pair in the parking lot, again talking, walking. 

Buck glanced up. "Let me guess, this is Stuart James."

"Yup," Chris answered. "Charlene showed me a picture," he explained when Buck twisted around to catch his eye. "You had these and you didn't say anything to the US attorneys?" he asked glancing at Vin sharply. "This could have helped you—"

"I'm hopin' it still can," Vin said, wry. "But I wasn't gonna tell anybody I had anything until I was holding it in my hands, Chris. These are the only copies." He handed over a stack of loose, lined pages.

Chris nudged Buck over a little and reached for one of the notebooks, flipping the pages back and forth like they were a deck of cards. "What the hell is this? Names, dates, cities?"

"I don't hunt bounties all the time," Vin said, looking slightly embarrassed. "I used to track him a little, awhile back." The amount of paper and size of the box implied that it was more like a lot. "Before he skipped on that charge in Oklahoma, he didn't have any outstanding warrants, nothing I could get him for. But sometimes..."

"Sometimes you'd go down to Denver and instead of finding yourself a nice guy and getting laid you'd stake out his place then follow him around the country." Buck sounded half-confused and half-disgusted, and Vin bristled. 

"Yeah," he said stiffly. "And if I didn't, I wouldn't have that, and I'd be up shit creek right now, wouldn't I?"

"Son, I've got news for you," Buck said soberly. "You are up shit creek." 

Chris squeezed Buck's shoulder before Buck could continue with the obvious conclusion, that Vin wouldn't be in this trouble if he'd just done his job and picked up Whitney in Texas... or never started chasing him at all. Chris didn't say anything, wondering again at Vin's interest—some might call it obsession—in this Whitney guy. But he understood it, too, the single-minded focus on whatever it was that had destroyed a piece of your life. He looked at Buck again, reached just to touch his wrist briefly. Buck turned and looked back, eyes hard and alight with the new information, with the chase. Alive. 

Chris dropped his hand. If they spooked Vin, they'd push him into doing something he wouldn't want to do, something they wouldn't want him to do. Still. "You mind if I ask you," Chris said, not really caring if Vin minded or not but speaking carefully, because he wanted a straight answer, "why you didn't just put a bullet in him in some back alley, years ago?" When Vin didn't answer Chris shot him a dark look. "You had to have thought about it. Nobody spends this kind of time on somebody he hates without thinking about it." 

"Thinkin' about it's no crime," Vin said shortly. 

"No. So why didn't you do it?" Chris wondered what exactly he expected; he and Buck had been military first, then cops, and while they'd carried throwaway pieces just in case, like many cops did, neither one of them had ever gone vigilante. Not even in this line of work where they had a lot more latitude if they'd ever wanted to use it. 

Vin dropped the papers on the floor and shoved both hands into his hair, twisting it back behind his neck in a way that would make it stay there for all of two seconds. "I just barely got out from under murdering one man in cold blood, Chris. That's enough for me to have to live with."

Chris nodded, satisfied for the moment. "Let's move these into the kitchen, get 'em spread out—" and just like that, Vin went from hot to cold. 

"Nah, thanks though. I need to sift through this stuff, see what's gonna help me. The rest…" he cleared his throat and grinned. "I'd look like a stalker." Chris hid his own smile at the thought even as Vin started gathering up the information almost faster than he'd dumped it out. 

He caught Buck's frown but didn't know what to make of it himself. Let him do it? Stash something potentially useful just because it belonged to him? Buck clearly wanted to dive right in and take it away from him if need be, help him any way Buck saw fit whether Vin wanted the help or not. Chris shook his head, wondering at how Buck could do that for people, could keep giving whether they wanted him there or not, whether they thought they needed him or not. Then he thought of Buck's mother, Margaret, and knew. 

He had his own reasons for such faith in Buck, for thinking Buck was right—but he wasn't going to let him do it. "Come on, Buck, let's leave him to it." 

Buck followed him into the kitchen a minute later, and Chris wasn't surprised when hands touched his hips, just holding him from behind. "You mind tellin' me why we're not in there digging through that stuff right now?"

"He doesn't want us digging through it," Chris said, stating the obvious.

"So?" Buck shot back, stating his own obvious. 

Chris turned in the loose circle of Buck's hands and leaned back against the counter, meeting his eyes. "So." 

Buck glared but backed off, muttering about secretive fools and coffee. 

They went into town not long after, and Chris mollified Buck a little by letting him drive. JD was there when they got in, and Josiah. He figured Ezra and Nathan would be in before long, and headed for their desk. He looked through his paperwork and generally ignored the buzz of voices around him, sparing a nod for Ezra when he arrived earlier than expected, and a frown for Nathan when he arrived later. He wasn't anybody's den mother, though, so he didn't say anything. 

Buck wandered over—he checked his watch, surprised almost two hours had passed. "Whatcha doin'?" 

Trying not to wonder what Vin had in those boxes, he didn't say. "Trying to get some honest work done." 

"Speaking of honest work…" He waited until Chris looked at him. "JD traced one of Travis's skips to Birmingham. We could get there and back in a day."

"Gettin' itchy, Buck?" Chris asked. 

"Not hardly. I just think we could pick her up quick." 

"Her?" 

Buck grinned. "Yeah. I could go by myself." 

"She ain't gonna look like the women you used to date," Chris chided, sounding as annoyed as he did amused at the situation. "Besides, if it's only Birmingham, I can go and you can stay. You're still wounded." 

Buck felt a little thrill chase along his skin. The last time Chris said those words, they'd heralded a sweet bout of mattress tango, and the way Chris's face flushed of a sudden meant he'd remembered as well. 

"Well you are," Chris muttered and cleared his throat. 

"Barely." Buck glanced around and risked Ezra's wrath to reach out and squeeze Chris's thigh. "Either of us could go, if we think we can turn it around quick. JD thinks he talked to her this morning." 

He watched Chris consider it, content to follow his lead now as always, and eventually Chris asked, "When is she due to forfeit?"

"Just under three weeks, so if we get her now we won't have to hustle later. But her bail's only $15,000." 

"Still. $3,000 in commissions… take JD with you."

"Sure."

"Let him drive, I'll take your car home. Come back tomorrow night even if you're empty-handed. One shot, then we toss it to somebody else." 

"Okay."

He and JD got on the road around three o'clock to try and sneak out of town ahead of traffic. JD's van amused him, always had. He'd have paid good money to have a car like this when he was a kid. Now, it was convenient for road work and had been kitted out like the bounty hunter's in some book JD had read: all the windows were tinted dark, two pieces of PVC had been bolted to the interior behind the driver's seat—one held a rifle, the other a shotgun—and wire mesh separated a cage-like area at the back from the passenger compartment. He didn't figure JD had ever actually handcuffed a skip in the "cage," but he wouldn't put it past him if Ezra was along to goad him into it. 

When JD quieted down and turned on the radio, Buck eased into the back and stretched out on the padded floor. 

Chris called a couple of hours later. "You sound good, Buck. You having a nice road trip with the kid?" 

"Yeah."

Chris's chuckle then was low, dirty. "You want to be twenty again, don't you? Go after him yourself?" 

Buck swallowed, the slightest bit repulsed, and glanced up toward the back of JD's head. "You are a dirty, twisted old man, you know that?" he chided. 

"Learned it from you," Chris said, the smile evident in his voice. 

Somehow, the idea of sex with JD felt like having sex with your kid brother might: deviant in all the ways Buck wasn't. Chris knew this, and suggested it on occasion for the very same reason Buck liked to get chatty with Ezra about men having sex. 

"You heard from Vin?" Buck asked. 

"Nope."

"Call him, then. He's got his new phone."

Buck was right, Chris realized as he hung up, but he didn't have much to say and wasn't worried Vin had tried to run. He ought to be, he realized, but neither he nor Buck had even considered locking him down or trying to keep more than cursory tabs on him. So he kept working, nodding goodnight as Josiah and Nathan packed it in and left only him and Ezra still working. As it turned out, Vin showed up at the office near seven o'clock. He stood framed in the doorway, half-in and half-out. 

"Where've you been?" Chris asked. 

Vin shrugged. "Around. Surprised to see the lights on," he said. 

"Still got work to do."

"Y'all work pretty long hours around here."

"You've put in your share of overtime I reckon," Chris said, and Vin just grinned. 

Ezra, almost between them, hung up the phone and sniped, "Close the door, you're letting the cold air out."

Chris doubted that. It was probably as cool and nicer outside by this time of night than it was indoors. 

Vin pushed on inside though and propped against a file cabinet. "Anything I can do to help out?" he offered, and Chris came close to a smile when Ezra perked up. 

"As a matter of fact Mr. Tanner, there is. Chris has a pickup to make that should be so easy, JD could do it alone—a white collar alcoholic. He skipped on an involuntary manslaughter charge, heaven knows why."

Chris watched it play out, not sure it was a good idea and surprised when Vin said, "I'm not sure that's a good idea, Ezra. I'm just out on bail."

"An arrest is not a conviction, and this is Georgia after all. They didn't even revoke your concealed carry permit, did they?"

Vin looked surprised, and it pretty much mirrored Chris's line of thinking. Ezra would be right about that. Vin's gun was locked in an evidence room somewhere, but if they hadn't informed him of revocation and taken away his permit, he could borrow anyone's. Not that they'd need it for Ezra's skip, but it was worth thinking about. 

"Come now, Vin," Ezra continued, his persuasive talents in full force. "You have to earn your keep."

Chris chuckled low even as Vin's eyebrows rose. "Y'all already spent that half million you got off of bringin' me in?"

"We haven't even received it yet. Besides, that was last week. What have you done for us lately?" 

Chris snorted. Vin merely smiled. "I saved your life, and Buck's, in Wyoming."

"Even older news." 

Vin chuckled a little, and Chris waited until blue eyes flicked his way. "All right," he said by way of offer, "I'll back you up. If it'll help." His hand rose abortively to his flank. "Not gonna be much good for runnin' or tacklin' somebody down," he warned. 

"Chris can do that," Ezra said as he grabbed up his jacket. He didn't even pause to shut down his computer, just slid out the door before Chris could change his mind. 

He was thinking of changing his mind. I'll back you up. They didn't know this man, and Chris wasn't one for making snap-decisions about people. That was more Buck's field, and he was wrong as often as he was right. So was he really going to trust him? Trust him to watch his back? 

The man was staying in their goddamned house, a house that had five handguns, three rifles and a couple of shotguns, all stored in the top of a closet when not in use and none under lock and key. Neither of them had worried yet, had even thought to worry. 

How had that happened? And why didn't it bother him more? 

He sighed. When he did make snap decisions he stuck by them, and unlike Buck, his were usually right. He trusted Vin. It was as simple and as complicated as that. 

He shuffled through the paper and scanned Ezra's most recent notes. "Ezra says the guy'll be in one of three bars tonight."

"How does he know?"

Chris shrugged. "I have no idea. But he's got a post-it stuck here that says he'll bet $500 on it, so he's pretty sure." Chris tossed Vin a look. "Don't take the bet. He's that good." 

They took off in Vin's truck and methodically had a beer in each bar Ezra had listed, showing the photo to the bar tenders and dropping Ezra's current working alias. It took all night, working their way back and forth between the bars until a bartender they'd slipped a fifty to pulled them aside and pointed toward the back. They grabbed the skip not much before two a.m. at a bar not three blocks from where he'd been arrested. People were creatures of habit, that's all there was to it. 

Rumpled suit jacket and all, they still made him ride in the truck bed, and dropped him off at the nearest jail for transfer. The guy, drunk, kicked when Chris climbed in to offload him, catching him high on the cheek. Vin lowered the tailgate and together they dragged him out, then inside. 

It was barely past three when they got back to the ranch. 

Chris stopped by the freezer for ice for his cheek and pitched another pack toward Vin, in the hallway—poor bastard had tripped over somebody's outstretched leg and landed hard on one knee. The guy couldn't catch a break in the injury department. 

"Y'all got a reason to keep so much blue ice on hand?" Vin asked, easing gingerly into the breakfast nook. 

Chris, who'd been ready to head straight to bed, hesitated, then turned on the coffee maker. "Shit like this," he said, refusing to mention his back. "Buck gets this thing in his hip now and again…" Vin's low laugh made him smile a little, too. "Your side okay?"

"It's fine." 

He waited for the coffee to finish gurgling and checked the answering machine: just Buck, complaining about his cell being off, then complaining that he wasn't home either before leaving a phone number for a ratty motel in Irondale and an ETA of noon tomorrow. 

"He bein' optimistic?" Vin asked, knee propped up, ice propped on knee. 

Chris shrugged. "When Buck's out with JD, you never know." He poured two cups of coffee and slid into a chair opposite Vin. "There's five hundred in that skip for you," he said, sipping carefully. Good and hot and not too strong. Might even help him sleep, if the caffeine didn't kick in too quick. 

Vin got up to doctor his coffee with a lot of everything. "Aw hell, Chris, you don't have to pay me. I'm just glad not to be chewin' my nails down to the knuckle, you know?" 

"Ezra would've gotten more than that, if he'd come out. Take the money." 

Vin frowned, but didn't say anything, and Chris wondered if he was going to have trouble there. Hell, if Vin was going to work, he was going to be paid. If Vin was going to be stuck here indefinitely, he'd need to be paid. 

"I'm 'bout wiped out," Vin finally said. "I've got to see Horowitz in the morning, too." 

"He isn't sick of talking to you yet?" 

Vin ducked his head, and Chris wondered again at what Vin was hiding. "Listen, Vin… this isn't the time to be holding out. Nobody's screwing around here, and Hunter's out for your blood—"

"You don't think I know that?" Vin grimaced. "Just—I don't get people involved in risks I don't have to, and I don't sell information I don't have." 

"But you've got it now, don't you?" Chris guessed, feeling his way. 

Vin met his eyes but didn't say anything, and Chris tried a single nudge. "What do you think you have?"

Vin scrubbed at his eyes. " Maybe something, maybe nothing. I… I'm not tryin' to hold out on you, Chris."

But he was holding out, that much would be obvious even to JD. In light of encroaching dawn, Chris let it go. "I hope you know what you're doing, Vin."

Vin nodded, and took a deep draught of coffee. "So do I." Vin eased up from the table, taking his cup with him, but turned from the dim hallway. "Thanks, Chris. No shit, thanks. For everything." 

"We haven't done anything yet."

Chris could just barely make out the frown from where Vin stood in the shadows. "You call this—sheeit. Thank Buck too. 'Night."

Wednesday, May 23

It was the phone that woke him. The room was warm—he'd forgotten to turn on the air conditioner last night, and the doors and windows were still open from his and Vin's late return. Felt like a jackhammer was going off inside his head, and it took a second to remember that he hadn't tied one on the night before. 

He scrambled for the clanging bell, knocking the phone off the nightstand and almost falling out of bed to retrieve it. "Larabee," he mumbled.

"Hell, you ain't out of bed yet, stud? JD and me have been up for hours!"

"Buck," he mumbled, burrowing back down into sheets and pillows.

"The one and only. We've got ourselves a pretty little filly, too. Spittin' nails and cussin' like a truck driver." 

"Must be takin' some of the charm out of it for you."

Buck laughed, low. "Not really. You all right?" The concern bled through even the good mood. 

Chris blinked, forcing himself awake, and propped himself up. "Why wouldn't I be? Found another of Travis's skips, Vin and me were out all night. Got to bed around four." He squinted at the clock: not quite 9:00. 

"Ouch. He good?"

"Yeah," Chris admitted. 

"Thought he would be," Buck said on another dirty chuckle. "We're outside of Leeds, so we've got about three hours left. Can't wait to unload this package and see you."

"Hey, fuck you!" Chris heard in a high feminine voice. 

"Now darlin', that's no way to talk to folks who're just bein' friendly!"

"Fuck your girlfriend, too!"

Chris snickered, waiting for an "I plan to, first chance I get," but Buck exercised unexpected restraint. "Gotta go, Chris. I think Shaleena here is feeling ignored. See you at the office."

"Yeah," he said again, and rang off. Eight thousand dollars in recovery fees for these two, and they hadn't really had to work hard. Five hundred to Vin, a thousand to JD, something for Ezra because the manslaughter skip was his, office overhead and they'd still done all right. Nice way to start a day—not that he was ready to start it yet. He tossed the phone aside and burrowed back into the pillows until a quiet tap on the door sounded. 

"I'm awake," he said blearily. 

"Chris?" Vin stayed on the other side of the door. "I gotta drop by Lenny's before I go see the US attorneys. Didn't know if you wanted me to stop by the office later, or steer clear, or what."

"Open the damned door," he called out, and dragged himself up into a sitting position while Vin opened the door a crack. "You make coffee?"

"Yeah." 

"Okay, I'll be right out." 

Vin snicked the door shut and Chris dragged on yesterday's jeans, skipping shower and shave and everything else for the moment to follow his nose to the coffeemaker. Sucking it hot and black into his cells, he dug through the junk drawer for keys, came up with a pair marked with one of those little round white paper tags, and tossed them Vin's way. "They're to the house." 

Vin looked… Chris didn't know how to describe it, really. "What?" he asked. 

"Chris, I… " Vin swallowed. "Thanks."

Uncomfortable with that much sincerity, Chris shrugged it off. "Sure." Buck would've taken advantage no doubt, parlaying for threatened kisses or copped feels, but it was just logistics to Chris's mind. They lived too far out of town to keep trying to plan on leaving and coming back together. "The code's on the tag. If the gate's closed at the road, punch it in. If you walk into the house and hear something beeping, just punch the same code into the panel in the hall and hit pound." They locked this place up tight when they were out of town for work, even the metal gate that barricaded the drive from the highway, and had ever since—ever since Sarah and Adam. Chris liked to pretend that lightning didn't strike twice, but Buck had gone weirdly paranoid after they'd gotten together and refused to take any chances. In fact, maybe they ought to be locking up more carefully now. 

"I don't—thanks, Chris. Really."

Chris shrugged again, uncomfortable, and turned toward the sink so he wouldn't have to look at Vin's eyes. It was disconcerting, to see such sincere gratitude there, and equally disconcerting to feel his response to it. "You'd best get a move on." 

Chris stood there listening to the quiet movements throughout the house, the rattle of keys and doorknobs, the snick of the front door closing and the louder but muted slam of the screen. Vin's engine turned over. It seemed too easy to get comfortable with that guy around, too easy to get used to the man's way of working, of being. Chris dumped the dregs of his coffee down the drain and walked up to the front of the house, then into Vin's bedroom. He scanned from the doorway, then finally slipped in and opened the closet door: no FedEx boxes. No manila envelopes. No evidence. He wondered if Vin was keeping it in his truck or had stashed it all in a cabinet somewhere, but he wasn't willing to start digging on his own. Not just yet. So he turned around and headed for the bathroom, then work.

Buck and JD made it back well before noon, which bespoke of breaking too many speed limit laws and the fact that probably, JD had been driving, but what really pleased Chris was the shiner Buck had picked up on the road. 

"Damn it, Buck, don't you have enough bruises?"

"Couldn't help it. Her mom was pretty pissed," Buck said, morose as he prodded ever so gently at the dark blue swelling over his right cheek. "Not like you've got room to talk."

Chris shrugged. "The skip was drunk, and kicked a little wild."

"Uh huh."

Chris grinned and moved so that Buck had to follow him toward better light. "So a woman did that to you, huh?" he teased. 

"A big woman, and yes." Buck dropped the paperwork on their desk, and used Chris's distraction to steal their best chair. "Vin get banged up too?"

"Barely skinned his knee," Chris admitted. Of course, you wouldn't have been able to tell it if Vin had gotten hit; his bruises were fading now, but still a spectacular combination of mud and murky sunsets. 

"Good." Buck's hand reached to ruffle his hair. "You, you c'n take it."

Not that he'd wanted to. Chris parked his hip on the edge of their desk and watched JD power up his computers. The kid looked happy, accomplished, like he'd done something useful. "JD do good?" he asked quietly enough that the others wouldn't hear. 

"Brought her down himself!" Buck chuckled, low. "Had to tackle her around the knees to do it—she's nearly six feet tall and runs like a racehorse—but he got her down and I got cuffs on her and kept her boyfriend off the kid. The rest was easy."

Easy. They could use some more of that. "He's turning into a pretty decent bail enforcer, ain't he?" Chris asked, just speculating. 

"Better than I ever thought he'd be," Buck said with a grin. 

That was good. Anything to relieve the pressures on the two of them was a good thing. "You want to go home? Pick me up in Sandy Springs tonight?" 

"Nah. I'm a little amped, I'll stay." 

Chris pulled up the folding chair and got back to work. Not much later though, he looked at his watch and headed out the door for his meeting with Charlene Cruz. Buck was on the phone, so Chris just nodded and left. He tried hard not to think about the meeting, mainly because it annoyed the shit out of him that he was dragged into the legal side of this—and more relieved than he'd admit to anyone that he had information that might help Vin. 

It turned out not to go too badly—it was quick, at least, a review of questions he'd already answered and a not so subtle prep for the grand jury tomorrow. He answered in monosyllables, gauged Palminteri's impatience with him by the increasing tension on Cruz's face, and didn't mention the package Vin had gotten, glad when they cut him loose an hour later so he could return to the office and tell Buck they were packing it in early. 

When they got home, Vin's truck was already there and parked off to the side of the drive. 

"You gave him a key to the house?" Buck asked.

Chris grunted. 

"Thanks. I meant to. Hey, let's see if we can't get a look at what's under the hood there," Buck said, and headed straight for the truck. 

Buck stuck his head into the open window and Chris was surprised a second later when Buck pulled keys out and jangled them his way. "Guess you can't lose 'em that way," Buck said doubtfully as Chris walked up. 

He peered into the truck bed for the boxes. Hell, Vin could have stashed his stuff anywhere by now, could have turned it over to his attorney for all Chris knew. "This rust bucket doesn't look like it's worth stealing," he said, belatedly.

Buck grinned at that. "Good point. Pop the hood, I'll turn her over."

Chris did as asked, watching belts catch silently as the engine kicked and caught on the first turn. Smooth. 

Buck slid out of the truck's cab and around the open door, leaning against the fender and watching the fan spin. "He wasn't lying; this thing purrs like a kitten."

Chris, leaning in from the front, met his eyes and grinned. "It hit 75 on the highway last night without even trying. Can't go wrong with a V-8." 

"It's still ugly as shit," Buck huffed.

Chris nodded. "But that, we can do something about." 

"Something wrong with your own rides?" 

Buck jerked up fast enough that he banged the back of his head on the inside of the hood. Chris burst out laughing while Buck swore and rubbed at the back of his head. 

"Serves you right, Big Dog," Chris teased. 

Vin stood on the front steps, arms crossed over his chest and eyeing them both—and trying not to smile. Chris smirked between Vin's mock-accusing look and Buck's pained chagrin as Vin walked down to join them. 

Buck's look turned happy quick enough when Vin hemmed him in between Chris and the truck bumper. "You hurt your head?" Vin asked. Buck practically purred at the attention. There wasn't much Buck liked more than being ganged up on, in the right circumstances. Chris could still remember how Buck practically wriggled like a puppy whenever they had to go to a strip club for information. Inevitably, Buck would know at least a couple of the girls, and when they fawned on him Buck was flat-out insufferable. 

"You've done some work on this," Chris said, easing out from behind Buck and tugging him a little away from Vin. It bothered him that Vin had gotten so close, right until Vin met his eyes and grinned, like he was saying 'This guy's too easy.' 

"Some," Vin relied. "You done poking around or you want the tour?" 

"Still needs body work," Buck said.

Vin nodded, reached in and shut down the engine. "Won't disagree. Primer and paint mostly."

"Primer and paint we got," Chris offered without once glancing at Buck. "Sand that roof. Coupla days."

Vin glanced between them and nodded. "Could work on that Mercury of yours for trade." He blew out a soft breath. "Looks like I've got the time."

Chris didn't say anything, just left Buck and Vin talking while he went in to start putting a late lunch together. He wouldn't mind working on the Mercury a little himself. 

After lunch they got Vin to pull his truck up near the barn and poked at it more carefully, and Chris couldn't help laughing at the look on Vin's face when Buck took a hammer and started knocking the rust away. "Don't worry, he treats cars like women." 

Vin looked at him sideways and Chris realized how that must have sounded. "You've seen how he is. When he used to trawl for real, he was ten times worse." 

"Sheeit. How do you keep him in line?" 

Chris flushed a little, and then a little more when Vin noticed and snickered. "You want help on your truck or not?" he grumbled. 

"I'll see if I can't help you tire him out a little," Vin said, still snickering, and headed on over to Buck. An hour later they had the sander going full blast and before all of them were covered in metal dust, Chris dragged out the masks. This could take a while.

[Index] [Previous ] [Next] 

The Magnificent Seven and it characters @ MGM, the Trilogy Entertainment Group, the Mirisch Corporation and TNN, and was developed by John Watson and others


	7. Skip Trace - Waiting Games: Chapter 7

SKIP TRACE: WAITING GAMES  
By Charlotte C. Hill and Maygra 

Universe: Skip Trace 

Acknowledgements: Many thanks to Megan for morale and editorial support, as well as a few scenes .

Pairing/Characters: C/B, Vin, Ezra, cameos by the Nathan, Josiah & JD

Rating: NC17 (We mean, seriously...look who's writing this thing!)

Story Notes: What would have been a "duology" (or whatever a two-book series is) was first far too long, and second, couldn't adequately credit maygra for contributions she made to the parts of the epic post-"The Big Score". So I picked a somewhat arbitrary place to divide it, at a point in real life not long after we lost Maygra to a dark forc--I mean, another fandom. I hope I've covered all of her contributions save one, and that I have also helped her avoid having to take the blame for anything that follows.

Feedback: yes, please, any kind, on or off list to charlottechill@yahoo.com and maygra@gmail.com. 

Thursday, May 24  
It was still early on Thursday morning when Buck groaned and stretched on their wrinkled sheets. From his sated sprawl on the bed, he watched Chris rummage through his wardrobe, eyes roaming from the hair at Chris's nape, dark and damp with sweat, over the broad span of shoulders and down to the narrow curve of waist that made Buck's hands curl to fit it. He'd thought far more rude and detailed things just in the last half hour or so, but now his mind veered toward the romantic. 

He grunted and sat up though when Chris pulled out a suit. "What's up?" 

Chris looked from the hanger to the bed. "Grand jury. She wants to talk to you too."

"I didn't witness anything." 

Chris paused at that, eyes on the floor. "You spent two days in his place. You sure you didn't stumble over anything important?" 

Buck thought back on it, but nothing came to mind. "Don't think so." 

"Well. You saw Vin pull your ass, and Ezra's, out of a sling," Chris said, his voice stiffer than it had been a second ago. "Plus everything that happened on that damned mountain."

Buck let it pass; Chris had to work out the near misses himself, and Buck had learned from long experience that there wasn't much he could do except stay healthy and keep breathing. "Let me get a move on then." 

"Nah," Chris waved him off, "Vin has to see his attorney later this morning. Ten, I think. If you ask nice you c'n still get your run in and catch a ride with him, or drive yourself in when you're ready." 

Buck leaned back. "Okay." It wasn't like Chris would be good company on his way to a grand jury hearing anyway. Buck was surprised Chris had spread so eagerly for him this morning in fact, knowing he had a grand jury to run off to. 

He rolled out of bed and silently cursed Chris when he realized he'd been tricked; he had compression shorts in his hand even though Chris wouldn't be making him go. He looked over his shoulder, caught Chris's knowing smirk, and sighed. He sighed but he tugged them on, dragged on a ragged old APD tee shirt, kissed Chris soundly and headed out the front door before he could change his mind. He'd gotten maybe a couple of miles when Chris honked as he passed by on the highway, so Buck gave him the finger and turned around. 

He wanted to catch Vin, maybe get him to start thinking seriously about fixing up that truck. The idea warmed Vin up, Buck could tell, but something—Buck got the feeling the truck had belonged to somebody special, and Vin just didn't want to mess with it. Buck didn't have a bead on it yet, but he would. As soon as he did, he'd use whatever it was as a lever to get the guy to pretty it up again, make it worth whoever it made Vin remember. 

Coffee was on when he got home, good and strong. Not nearly like the piss that passed as cop coffee, thank God, but Chris was probably watering it down. The thought made Buck grin as he blew across his cup to cool it off some. 

Vin pushed in through the back door at that moment, empty cup in his own hand. He eased past Buck for the pot, then loaded his cup with enough cream and sugar to make a cake frosting. Buck tried not to shudder. 

"Chris take off?" Vin asked.

"Yeah. Testifying before the federal grand jury."

Vin frowned toward the floor. "He said." 

"Why do you think they haven't sent you in yet?" 

Vin hedged a little, the movements familiar enough to Buck after years of reading people for a living. "Vin?" Buck asked. The gentle approach almost always worked best no matter what Chris believed. 

"They could still be targeting me for the murder, for all I know."

Buck shook his head. "I don't think so, not the feds anyway. You don't either." 

Vin looked at him for a second before ducking his head to his coffee cup. "What I think ain't worth shit yet." 

Yet? "Gotta be worth somethin', for James to have wanted you dead." Buck didn't mention James might still want him dead, didn't tell him to be careful. If Vin needed a warning like that after watching his house go up in smoke, then Vin wasn't the man Buck thought he was. 

"You think James knows what you've got?" he asked, still wanting to know himself. 

"Hell no. How could he?" 

"Eli Joe," Buck said, because it was obvious. "Snipers and spotters… if spotters are good for anything, it's knowing their surroundings. You sure he never ID'd you when you were following him?"

"Pretty sure," Vin said, then scowled. "I don't think he'd have hesitated to put a bullet into me in an alley."

Or an old man's home. Buck had to wonder if Whitney really hadn't known Vin tailed him all those years. Those boxes weren't small, they represented a hell of a lot of time doing surveillance. "He did try to put a bullet in you." He nodded his head down, indicating Vin's healing side. 

Vin shook his head. "I reckon that was just 'cause I startled him. If I'd never showed up, that thing at Kincaid's place would've gone off without a hitch. Since I did, he saw his chance and framed me up real good. He'd have let me twist in the wind and had a good laugh over it if I hadn't got away." 

Buck sipped at his coffee as he let that information roll around in his head. An empty propane tank would've given Whitney a problem, but any firebug would have found a way around that. And what Vin said lined up with what they'd guessed from the crime scene—and none of it answered the question of why the feds hadn't taken over Vin's case. "The feds will claim jurisdiction over Whitney, if they haven't already. Why not you?" 

Vin held his eyes for all of two seconds before staring out the window. "I been wonderin' that myself." 

"Getting ready to reach out to them?"

"Might have to." 

"What's in those boxes, Vin? What have you got to trade with?" 

"It's not somethin' I want to involve you in, Buck."

"I'm already involved. That's not gonna change unless you convince me you really murdered that guy." He watched the way Vin's back started to get up at the suggestion and the way he forcibly pushed the reaction away. "We're trusting you, Vin," he pointed out. "You might as well trust us." 

Vin blew out a long breath. "I appreciate all you're doin', Buck." He grinned that "aww shucks" grin he had that made Buck want to lick it off—a feeling he'd had often enough over the years and had learned, wisely, to curb. 

Grand juries liked speculation. A trial court with a jury wouldn't put up with it, but that was what made grand juries so easy; they weren't really deciding anything. "So what do you think you've got?"

Vin blanched and his eyes swept toward the hallway. "I don't know why everybody thinks I've got all this great intel," he groused. 

That didn't much need an honest reply so Buck didn't give it one. "Well," he said reasonably, "you're a smart guy, somebody tried to kill you and failed so you know what you're doing. The feds have got the shooters now and granted, them ol' boys are probably locked up tighter'n a nun's panties, but who knows? They've got whatever Kincaid told them before Whitney killed him." He paused at the flash of anger in Vin's eyes, but only for a second. "And they've got Whitney. You're the only loose end. And," Buck added with a grin, "you get twitchy every time Chris or me asks." Those pretty blue eyes flashed at him again, proving his point. "You think Whitney knows something about you, about whatever it is you have on him?" 

The look on Vins' face said he didn't, or hadn't thought of it, and Buck repressed a sigh. He knew this type, had been this type himself before a law enforcement career forced him to start using his brain in a different way than was natural for him. Vin liked to see what was right in front of him, or he liked to see the whole world. Everything in between he could take or leave—but it was that in between shit that was going to sink or save him now. "C'mon, Vin," he chided, "you told me yourself that sniper teams are tight. Whitney's gotta know you pretty well."

Vin frowned. "That ain't somethin' I like to think on." For a second it seemed like Vin would just leave the kitchen. "Buck, if he knows me that well, he knows my weak spots. I won't risk those." 

"Family?" he asked.

Vin blanched but said nothing.

"But all your family's in Wyoming." 

"You think Eli Joe don't know that? Like I told you, sniper teams spend a lot of time doing jack shit. Waiting. Talking about nothing and everything. Eli Joe, if he remembers, knows exactly who I care about most, and how much. He—" Vin stumbled, and Buck reckoned he almost didn't need to say what followed, "he knows how I feel about Chanu, and about Claire and at least the first of the kids."

Buck had pondered those feelings himself up on that mountain, in all the things Vin hadn't said. However it had settled out, however he had dealt with it, Vin Tanner was still in love with that Indian, and he loved that whole family of his up there. Love had a way of taking care of itself, of making hard things easier over time; Buck had learned that lesson himself with a little help from his mom, and been far luckier than Vin about how things had turned out. There was nothing he wouldn't do for Chris, or his mother or Frank, and not much he wouldn't do for a whole passel of others.

"Eli Joe'd have to be pretty stupid to try and get to them, though," Buck hazarded, not completely sure he believed his own words. 

"Or pretty smart," Vin spat. "He burned down my house, Buck. He and his boys would've killed anybody who happened to be there, if they could. Could've been Chanu. Or Claire, or Peta. Could've been a smart-ass little 10-year-old girl who likes to win horse races, Buck. And not for nothin'," he paused almost long enough for Buck to prompt him, then said, "but it's starting to make some sense to me that he could target Chris or you." 

"We can take care of ourselves," Buck assured him. 

"Yeah," Vin said a little bitterly, "I thought I could, too." 

Buck sipped more coffee, scratching at an itch on his belly just beneath the waistband of his sweatpants. "You mind giving me a ride into town? I want to hitch back with Chris after work."

Vin looked surprised. Maybe he hadn't expected Buck to change the subject so easily, but the loyalty and love in Vin's voice when he talked about his family, Buck understood plenty. It didn't need talking about, and Vin had that look, like he was gonna wind himself up just like Chris could sometimes. If Buck tried to push any more, Vin would stop talking altogether. 

"This you and Chris's way of taking it easy?" Vin asked, a little off balance maybe.

Buck frowned. "Huh?" 

"You two have gone in every day but Sunday, you went to Birmingham, Chris and me were out til three in the mornin' night before last…" 

Buck hadn't thought about it that way, but that was about the size of it. "I've got stuff to do pretty much every day, whether I do it or not," he replied with a grin. "The company—it's kind of hectic. When I started toward this line of work it was so I'd have free time. Chris… things were tough back then. I needed a flexible schedule. Now we work more than we did when we were cops. We could probably put in 100-hour weeks one right after the other, all of us." Hell, they did put in weeks that long, too often. He scratched again, a little lower inside his sweats, grinning when Vin's eyes followed the movement. On purpose now, he scratched lower still. His fingers had just reached his pubic hairs when Vin jerked his gaze up with a pissed-off little What're you doin'? look. Buck chuckled. "I wasn't the one starin' at my dick, slick." 

"Surprised you don't, much as you seem to like it," Vin said, but there was no malice in his voice and his ears tinged just the slightest bit pink in a way that delighted Buck to no end. He couldn't help it; if a good-looking man liked looking at him, who was he to ignore the compliment in that? He opted to exercise a little self-restraint though and pulled his hand out of his pants. 

"We've always got too much work. It's just the routine that comes with the territory—" he pulled up short. "Well, I reckon you know something about that."

Vin grinned, and Buck wasn't sure if the smile was for the words, or the fact that he'd moved his hand away from his groin. "Ain't the same. I don't keep an office or contract with anybody like y'all do with Travis, so sometimes things get slow. When I ain't bounty hunting or following Eli Joe, I'm cowboyin' for Chanu and the tribe." 

That was a picture that Buck could imagine just fine. "Chaps and spurs?" he grinned. "One of them denim shirts with the snaps instead of buttons, and jeans so faded you can tell exactly what's underneath 'em?"

Vin whapped him on his good arm. "Git yer mind out of the gutter."

"Why?" he answered placidly as he headed off for a shower. "It's happy there." 

He hadn't been in the office an hour when Chris blew in, tie off and shirt unbuttoned at the collar. "How'd it go?" he asked, not quite hanging up the phone on a client and keeping his voice down; everybody was in, and it got to sounding like a country bar around here sometimes. Chris didn't even answer. "That good, huh?" He grinned. 

Chris at least looked at him then, and cursed under his breath. "Vin's up tomorrow," he muttered. 

"Well, all right! Get things moving in the right direction, did ya?"

He didn't miss the light of humor in hazel-green. "You're awful optimistic."

Buck just shrugged. "If the feds are talking to him again then I might have cause to be. For a minute there I wondered if they weren't gonna leave him to twist."

Chris rubbed at the back of his neck. "I don't know that they shouldn't, as close-mouthed as he is."

Buck reached, rubbing for him, glad when Chris groaned a little and leaned toward him. "He's runnin' scared, Chris," Buck said, low enough that the others wouldn't hear. "You would be too. Only difference is," he added with a chuckle, "you'd be running at them." 

Chris didn't laugh, didn't even really acknowledge the barb. He just turned to JD. "Hey, JD, did you get that list of calls for Tanner's cell?"

On the phone and talking a mile a minute, JD nodded and reached to leaf through one of his baskets. He handed a pile of papers over, and Buck stood to look over Chris's shoulder as he scanned. 

"Hell, kid, we only needed to know about one phone call." 

Chris nudged him with an elbow. "Maybe we needed to know more," he said, and his finger ran down the pages, pausing a couple of times by a 202- area code. "D.C.? Outgoing, incoming… who does he know in Washington D.C.?" 

Ezra, bored with work or drawn toward them because they were talking too low for him to eavesdrop easily, came over and peered at the numbers upside down. "I'll be—shit," he swore. 

Buck looked at him. "What?"

"Don't you people recognize that number? It's the FBI headquarters, for Christ's sake!" 

"FBI?" Buck repeated dumbly. 

Ezra glowered at him, then glanced around the room with a frown. "Two-oh-two, two-seven-eight, two thousand," he read out loud. "Who doesn't know what this number is?" He waited a second; JD shrugged and turned to his computer, obviously ready to look it up, while Josiah and Nathan just looked at him blankly. Ezra somehow managed to look pompous and scandalized at the same time. "You people can't seriously tell me that I'm the only person in this room who's ever been arrested!" 

"By the FBI?" Josiah said, then smiled. "I'm gonna go out on a limb and say yeah, Ezra, you're the only one." 

"I'm surrounded by dilettantes," Ezra huffed. He grabbed the pages out of Chris's hand and pointed to other numbers with the same area code and exchange. "This is the main line. These are probably direct extensions for someone within the organization." He looked up, eyes flashing as much ire as shrewd intelligence. "Who exactly do you have residing in your guest bedroom, gentlemen?" 

The look Chris leveled over his shoulder told Buck they were soon going to find out. 

JD hit the speaker button on his phone and punched in some numbers. Before Buck even realized what the kid was doing, a tinny voice announced that Martin Bixby was out of the office, please dial "0", return to the operator and ask for—Ezra darted over and hung up the phone. "Are you trying to implicate this company in criminal activities?" he hissed. 

"Ezra," JD said reasonably, before Buck could say anything at all, "it's the FBI. They're the good guys." 

Chris stiffened. Ezra looked, for half a second, like he was going to blow a gasket and punch JD in the face. Instead he swiveled and dropped back into his chair. "You, John Dunne," he said tiredly, "have a hell of a lot to learn." 

"Well who called Vin at his cabin then?" JD asked, clearly confused. 

Buck raised his eyebrows. Chris scanned the page for date and time stamps, showed the number to Buck. "That's…." 

"Shit." He watched Chris's lips tighten up, caught the flare of anger in his eyes, and felt much the same. Maybe they all had a lot to learn. 

"Hey, JD," he said, his voice as casual as he could make it. "Can you get a hold of numbers with actual names beside 'em?"

"Yeah," JD said. "You can buy that stuff."

"Reduces the challenge considerably," Ezra sniffed. 

JD just glared at him and turned back to his computer. "I'll order it." 

"Good. Let us know when you get something. Chris, come here." 

He walked out the door and took a few steps down the street, watching carefully for hints of Ezra listening from inside. "That's the exchange on all of Travis's cell phones."

"It wasn't Orrin."

"I'm not saying it was…" 

"Then what the hell are you saying, Buck?" he snapped, and Buck could understand, truly he could. Chris and Travis, they were as close as men like them let themselves be. They respected each other, and for damned sure they trusted each other. 

"Calm down there, stud. I'm not saying anything." Chris's hands were balling into fists, and Buck took a step closer. "I'm not. It's just, that ain't likely to be a coincidence." 

"No," Chris growled. "It's not." 

"So we play things a little closer to the vest. Until we find out who that number really belongs to."

Chris's eyes were hard. "Yes. And start carrying again." 

Buck frowned. "Been awhile since we carried concealed weapons around town," he tried, not really disagreeing with the idea. 

"No better time to start," Chris said darkly. 

W&L • W&L • W&L 

They were in the living room watching the news when Vin finally showed his face, well after suppertime. 

"Where you been?" Chris asked, too smart to jump up and pounce on him. He'd done his share of interrogations in his time, and starting off pissed would leave him nowhere to turn when patience wore thin. 

"Nowhere in particular," Vin said. He looked from Chris to Buck and his face tightened, went wary. "What." 

"Come on in the kitchen," Chris said, trusting Vin to follow. He heard Buck's heavy, barefoot tread creaking floorboards behind Vin's boots. 

"What's up, Chris?" Vin asked. 

Chris eyed him critically for a moment; he wasn't moving stiffly anymore, and the bruises he'd picked up in jail were almost gone. Wild hair, peaceful eyes, sun-weathered skin that still had all its youth to it… he could see what Buck saw. A man would have to be blind not to see it, but he could see more than Buck saw too. Always had. "We were hoping you could tell us," he said. 

Vin shrugged. "What?" 

"Who you know in the FBI. Whether those calls to and from there have anything to do with James. What exactly you're holding out on us, and why." 

Vin hissed just before he eased himself into a chair. "Shit."

"Vin?" Buck asked from the hall, his voice low and easy and hurt, Chris knew. Buck was worried now that might have misplaced his trust, and Chris wouldn't know if he had or not until they got to the bottom of this mess. Vin's hands were noticeably still on the table, palms flat, giving nothing away. 

"It ain't what you think."

Chris exchanged a look with Buck. "We're not thinking anything yet, Vin," Buck said, taking the lead Chris passed him. "Don't know what to think, if you want the truth." 

"Y'all want your keys back? I c'n—I can get a motel. Shouldn't've bothered you this long." 

"Yeah," Buck laughed, short and easy, "that's it. We're trying to scare you out because neither one of us has the balls to tell a guest he's overstaying his welcome." 

Chris waited, hip canted against the kitchen counter, watching as Buck eased into a chair across from Vin and ducked his head, trying to make eye contact that Vin tried to avoid. Vin tensed, shoulders sliding up, and Chris heard the tapping of boot heels on the floor. He'd seen the stillness, and now he reckoned he was seeing the steady collecting of energy, the way Vin must've looked and been just before he got himself away from the police three weeks ago. Three weeks? Shit, he was staying in their house. 

"You can't run," Chris said, keeping his voice mild. "We offered Orrin Travis our house against your bail. You can't run, and the hiding's getting pretty old. So how about we just go for the truth and stop wasting all this time?" 

Vin looked up from under his lashes like Buck sometimes did, but the blue of his eyes was so pale and different, unreadable, so cold and intense—"I don't know!" he hissed out—and vulnerable, Chris realized. Scared. Clear as words on a page, Chris could read the look, read those eyes so easily all of a sudden—he looked away. 

"We can't help you if we don't know what's goin' on," Buck said. 

"I'm not so sure you'd help me if you did know," Vin muttered back. 

Would? Or Could? Chris didn't ask but he shot Buck a look. "One way to find out…" Trust Buck to make that sound reasonable and obvious, sliding naturally into "good cop" leaving Chris with "bad." Chris steeled himself and looked back to where Vin and Buck measured each other across the kitchen table. Vin pushed himself back on the bench, leaning backward until his head touched the wall behind him, and started banging the back of his head against it, meditative and tension-filled and not hard enough for Chris to think much of it. 

Blue eyes scanned the room scared, trapped, uncertain, distrustful, scared, Chris catalogued, calling it as he saw it, and pale lashes swept down when they closed. "What do you want to know?"

"Well for starters," Buck said casually, "who's your friend in the FBI?" 

"He's really just that." Chris almost laughed at the annoyance in the man's voice. "And he ain't got nothin' to do with any of this." Vin glanced between the two of them, but Buck was letting Chris lead and Chris had nothing to say. "He's a friend of mine. From back when I was in the army. I left and went back to my life and when he left, he went back to his daddy's. Joined the FBI. We stay in touch." 

"Regular enough that you'd call him while you were on the run?"

Vin's eyes closed. "He was my old CO," Vin said, and blew out a breath. "Yeah, we call each other sometimes. To shoot the shit, to see how the other's doin'. I… I call him when I don't have nobody else to call." 

"Why didn't you have anybody else to call, Vin?" Buck asked him. "What happened?"

"I found out Eli Joe was on the move again, a few months back. He's been to Texas more than once lately, and well… you saw the pictures of him and James." 

"Yeah. Saw the empty pages too…."

"Eli Joe lives in Colorado, and he'd gone to Texas before he set that fire in Oklahoma. I called Marty and asked him some hypotheticals about crossing state lines."

"Awful convenient," Buck said. 

Vin's grin was tired and pale. "This look convenient to you?" 

Buck chuckled. "Guess not." He shot Chris a look, eyebrows raised. Chris shrugged; it sounded plausible enough. 

"You tell him anything about Whitney or what you were finding out?"

"Hell no! He's my friend. He took some heat from my screwup in the army, I don't aim to put him in any more." 

"Idiot," Chris said, mild but meaning it. 

Vin's mouth quirked into a wry grin. "I think I already admitted that, yeah." 

"You were never going to pick Whitney up in Texas, were you?" Chris asked him. 

"I was! I wasn't gonna see him runnin' free when he could at least get locked up for more than five years on that Oklahoma arson charge. I was just—"

"Hoping you'd get Eli Joe for more," Buck said suddenly. "You wanted him to get caught doing enough to complicate the arson charge, you wanted to witness—"

"Just shut up, Buck," Vin said tiredly. 

Chris reached out and laid a hand on the back of Buck's neck, easing a little before they all got wound up. He'd pegged Vin for a straightforward man, but even straightforward men had their secrets and their reasons for keeping them. Chris felt Buck's eyes on him but didn't look away from Vin as he tried to peek around the corners of the guy and make sense from too few facts. "The pictures you do have will cement the fact that James and Whitney know each other, at least. Now we need a link that'll tell us what else they did; Kincaid's testimony already gives James motive for wanting him dead.... Eli Joe know about this little scrap book?"

Vin shook his head. "Like I told Buck, I don't think so." His grin broadened, teeth showing in something markedly akin to a feral expression. "But wouldn't I like to be here when he sees it."

"We've got plenty of trouble without borrowing more, Vin," Buck said.

"Go on," Chris said and leaned back a little further. 

"What do you want me to say? I've done this before, watched Eli Joe, when I didn't have anything else going on. Sometimes just because I was bored and sometimes because I'd get to thinkin' about what he's done that I know about and get pissed off at him all over again. Never caught him outright as far as I know, but I've got—" he stopped, "you've seen what I've got. 

"Not much of it," Buck tried, and Chris frowned. Vin was close-lipped enough, he sure as hell didn't look ready to spill anything noew. 

"You've seen enough. Photographs, times, dates, meets. I don't know the players, and I couldn't think how to get to know 'em, but I've kept my eye out." 

Buck whistled. "Damn, Vin, you're pretty single-minded when you want to be." 

"You don't know the half of it," he said cryptically. 

Chris drew breath but Buck was already talking. "And you haven't told the US Attorneys any of this."

"Not yet." 

"Well why the hell not!" 

"Buck—"

"Because I never find anything!" Vin all but exploded. "I get close, I know I get close, but that sharp motherfucker hasn't lit a match while I've had my—shit. I've got my evidence in hand now, I'm trying to figure out what makes sense, what I can give them that won't—" he stopped, shot a look at each of them in turn. 

Chris held up a hand to keep Buck quiet. "Well. Now we know why they aren't offering you any deals. Vin, you're not stupid…"

"Some would argue with you on that, Larabee," he said, but his grin was forced and his eyes tight. 

Chris let it pass and shared a look with Buck, but Buck only shrugged; no read there. 

"Now I've got a question for y'all," Vin said, looking squarely first at Buck, then at Chris. "You figured out who called me back at my place? Just before the shooters started up?"

"Nah, Vin. Not yet."

"What was the number?" 

Buck chuckled reluctantly and rubbed at the back of his neck. "We've got no idea. JD's got your call list though, and he's ordered contact information on the phone numbers. We can check tomorrow."

"Vin?" Chris didn't know why he said it, not until Vin met his eyes again. Vin wasn't a guileless man, not like Buck; and everything Chris had learned about him so far, from Orrin Travis before they'd started hunting him, from what he'd done for Buck and Ezra, for how he'd turned himself over and kept his word—for the look in those sky-blue eyes right now—told Chris he was a good man, trustworthy. "Don't hold out on us again," he said. 

"I ain't promisin' that, Chris," he said fast enough that Chris frowned and Buck sat up straighter in his chair. 

"Vin…" Chris started. 

"I'm not promising that, Chris, and you two interrogating me ain't gonna change that. Not until I figure out what's safe and what isn't and not until I'm sure I ain't pulling guesses out of my ass." He sat up a little straighter himself and clasped his hands on top of the table. "Now, maybe I better go look for that motel." 

The answer was straight enough. And if their positions had been reversed Chris wouldn't have come anywhere near trusting strangers as much as Vin was trusting them. He didn't think he was wrong about this man, and didn't really think Buck was either. But even if they were, unless he went postal and tried to take Chris or Buck out himself, they were better off keeping him close—for their sake and for his. He scrubbed at his face and shared a quick look with Buck. "Settle down, Vin. Nobody's tellin' you to leave. Just… watch your back."

"Yeah, Vin," Buck said easily, slouching back down in his chair. "And relax a little, huh? You make Chris nervous, son, and not a lot of people do that." 

Vin leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes, muttered, "Great." Chris didn't hold back his smile. 

Chris shook his head and stood up. "Let it go for now," he ordered them both. "You've got your bargaining chips and you ought to take them to the US attorneys tomorrow. Vin, you let them make you testify to a grand jury before they know what you've got, you won't win any friends."

"I know…." 

"Abbie Hunter'll want to see it, too," Buck offered. 

"Then she can get it from Charlene," Chris said. Charlene Cruz had her eye on Stuart James, while Abigail Hunter was just looking at Vin. Chris would rather make her work for it. Vin eased out of his chair and out the back door. They could hear him pacing back and forth on the wood deck. 

"What has he got that's spookin' him so bad?" Buck asked. 

Chris hitched up a shoulder. "We won't know until he tells us, or until we dig it out and look ourselves."

"It's not here anymore."

Chris just stared. 

"I checked," Buck admitted. If it's here it ain't obvious. Not in the closet, under his bed, bathroom cabinets…." 

It could be anywhere now. They'd had it in their hands, and now it could be anywhere, and Vin didn't look much like he was trying to save himself. 

"Let it go and grab us a beer," Chris said. "We can't make him tell us." Then he grinned. "We lost that chance when we let him hide it from us in the first place."

Chris followed Buck back to the living room and listened with half an ear to the sounds of Vin back in the kitchen, rummaging. He'd convinced himself that beyond Buck's obvious—and Chris's not so obvious—desire to help the guy, keeping Vin close would give them a better shot at getting needed information and protecting their investment in Vin's surety. But that wasn't the problem.

"You don't think it's a little weird, us bringing somebody like Vin into our house?" They weren't the most sociable of men—well, Chris wasn't—and Chris couldn't help feeling a little strange and a lot uncertain of his own justifications for all this aside from Buck wanting to help the guy. 

"He rattled you today, huh?"

"What do you think?" Chris shot back. 

"I think you don't like liking people if you can't find good reasons to," Buck said, as if Chris had expected an answer. "But you've got reason, Chris: we think he's innocent, he's got reputable people to speak for him; it's partly our fault he got picked up; he really did save Ezra's and my ass at his place, and—Chris, he's a good guy." 

"Your Magic Eight-ball tell you that?" 

"Yep," Buck said, annoying Chris to no end. "Look, Chris, he's trusting us a lot already. What do you expect from him?"

That was the problem, really; Chris expected Vin to be innocent, he expected him to come clean—hell, he expected Vin to do and be more than Chris would have if the shoe was on the other foot. Which made no sense. 

"Where do you think he was all day?" he asked Buck. 

"In a new town, nobody waitin' for him at home, all this shit falling on his head? I'd be out with a nice woman getting laid." 

"Uh huh. So where do you think he was all day?" 

"Nice guy?" Buck snorted, and Chris couldn't resist a grin of his own. "I don't know," Buck said like he didn't care either. "His side's healing up real good, and it's not like he's got much to take his mind off all this shit." Chris glared at him and Buck grinned back. "He could have been getting laid," he admitted in a way that to Chris's eye was wholly unrepentant. "Hell, it's what I should be doing right now," he added with a lazier grin and a raise of his eyebrows. 

Chris wasn't in the mood and didn't expect that to change between now and bed, but he said "Later" and nodded anyway. "Spousal duty," Buck laughingly called it—and Chris had taken his fair share of hand jobs and head when all Buck wanted to do was sleep. "Tomorrow though, we start digging." 

"Fine." Buck's satisfied-sounding sigh soothed him, and he turned his eyes back to the TV. 

Friday, May 25

Chris and Buck left Vin at the house Friday morning, getting ready for his meeting with the US attorneys. Between their regular workload of calls and paper shuffling, they dug. JD had produced the call records on Whitney's phone, and one number jumped out right away. The number Buck pointed out had the same area code and exchange as the disposable phones Quick Release handed out to their lower life clients. Chris broke down and dialed the number on the sheet and got a computerized female voice saying only, "The number you have dialed is no longer in operation." 

Buck raised his eyebrows and scanned on down the pages JD had supplied. "Couple of others. Could mean anything."

"It could," Chris said, but his gut felt hard and tight. 

JD kept up a constant stream of chatter, reacting badly to Chris's glowering mood Chris supposed—the kid ought to be used to it by now, he thought irritably, and made no effort to relax him. Nathan and Josiah treated him like he was acting normal, and Ezra ignored him completely. Buck alternated between bitching at him quietly and rubbing his aching lower back for him. Vin never called or stopped by, and Chris wondered if that meant the grand jury had proceeded, or been pulled because Vin was going to try to play ball. He hoped it was the latter, and that Vin had turned over something, anything from his collection of information. 

He decided to pack it in for the day when Buck warned him he was about to make JD cry or Ezra shoot somebody, and once they got home he grumbled at Buck to go off and play with Vin—the truck was in the drive, so Vin was around here somewhere—while he took himself out to the back yard and did chin-ups off the swing set until half his muscles ached. He hadn't known he was so pissed off at knowing nothing until he wasn't anymore. Damn it, Vin wasn't their responsibility. They were letting him stay here. They'd help him if they could, but nobody'd appointed him the guy's keeper. He was a big boy; he could take care of himself. 

An hour later, just before close of business, the call came through. Chris hung up the phone and rubbed the bridge of his nose, liking Vin a lot more now than he had this morning. And he was already liking him more than he wanted to. 

He generally hated dealing with the finances of the agency, but some of it was a necessary evil, and as much as he liked Ezra, he was leery of giving any more of that responsibility than he already had to a man who admitted to fleecing people for fun and profit. Not that he thought Ezra would outright steal from them—because Chris would never give him the chance—but that meant he had to do some of it, because Buck would trust the people who cleaned their office every month with it just to avoid having to do it himself. Today though, he was pretty damned happy to enter bank transfers and stare as the checking account balance jumped up. 

He knew now that he'd been waiting the last week for the courts or James or somebody to decide that paying bounty hunters to bring in a man for a murder who might end up incriminating the guarantor of the reward just wasn't fair. Travis had told him not to worry anymore but he had until just this minute, after the bank manager had confirmed the funds transfer and their accountant gave him an estimate of the taxes to set aside. She also told him, not for the first time, that they needed to incorporate the business to save on the taxes. Now all he had to wait for was a reimbursement for their expenses, but he was feeling pretty generous; if it never showed up, he'd let it slide. 

He made a couple of online transfers, spreading the money around to keep it federally insured, and made a note on Buck's calendar to call the accountant next week. 

It was time to celebrate and he grinned. Damned if they didn't deserve it, and while it was a pretty pitiful start, he decided to shake the dust off Buck and Vin and take them both out for dinner. There was no reason to stay in tonight and since it was Buck's night to cook, he'd be more than happy to get out of it. Vin had come back to the house after seeing the US attorneys and moped around, Buck said. Apparently Vin was negotiating now, handing them bits and pieces to get them interested and trying to win them over to his side, but as far as Vin knew they weren't biting yet. Still, Vin was at the house and hadn't found himself a motel, so that meant Buck was more right about Vin than Chris was. Which was good, considering how Chris kept shifting back and forth between calm trust and narrow-eyed suspicion. 

Vin could probably use a change of scenery. Buck's idle speculation had left Chris wondering about Vin disappearing the last couple of nights—hell, maybe he was out getting laid, but it wasn't Chris's business. His side was healing up nicely, puffy scar tissue tugging on the last couple of stitches and looking still a hell of a lot worse than Buck's wound, and he'd been downright compulsive about doing the exercises the therapist at St. Joe's had given him to keep the muscles from tightening up on him. He had finally regained his stamina, like he had tapped into a well on his run that was slow to refill. 

Chris headed out toward the yard and heard them before he saw them, hollering at each other and laughing. Vin had been determined to wash all the metal dust off his truck, and Buck had offered to help, and do Chris's car and his own. They'd been at it for the past hour, but listening to them, Chris had to wonder if they'd even gotten soap on the vehicles yet. 

He stepped out on the side porch and looked, shaking his head; looked like that well of Vin's had refilled nicely, because the pair of them were jumping around like kids. His car looked like it had been washed, Vin's truck still had soap on it and right now, Vin and Buck were both wetter than Buck's Mustang.

Buck had one hose and Vin another, using the cars as cover while they alternately soaked each other and threw soapy rags and sponges like missiles. It looked like fun….

He'd have to change first, though. Buck was stripped down to a pair of knee-length lycra shorts, the black fabric molding to his butt and thighs like a second skin, the fine hairs on his chest soaked slick and straight. Vin was in cut offs and a tank top but his clothes were plastered to him as well, showing off the tan he'd been getting from soaking up sun in the back yard. Buck had joined Vin when he could, just for the vitamin D he claimed; Chris thought Buck was full of shit on that subject, and that the view was what appealed to Buck more than anything else. Looking now, seeing Vin's hair soaked too, escaping from the pony tail he'd put it up in, Chris thought he must look almost like the teenager he had once been. He smiled; Buck, on the other hand, looked like he did half the time—joyful, vibrant, handsome as hell.

Neither of them saw him and he didn't interrupt, chuckling as Buck tried to sneak up on Vin by climbing into the back of the pick up. With a rebel yell, he opened the sprayer full force, catching Vin in the back, drenching him yet again and forcing Vin to twist away. Chris almost called out, afraid the horseplay would do damage to Vin's still healing side, but Buck was more careful than that.

He winced when Buck slipped in the back of the truck and went down with a thump that rocked the old Chevy. Vin gave him no quarter, crowding up to the side of the truck to let him have it full in the face with the wide spray.

"Uncle! Uncle!" Buck was laughing so hard he could hardly get the words out, but obligingly Vin turned the water off and leaned up against the truck, laughing too. 

"It's just downright evil to try and use a man's truck to gain advantage, Buck. This old Chevy and me have been through a lot." 

"It's not the damn truck, it's all the suds you got back here," Buck said, and pulled himself up to jump over the edge. He gripped the side and shook it, making the truck rock. "Not to mention this piece of crap hasn't got a shock left in it."

Vin gave him a warning squirt with the hose. "Be nice. I have some good times in this truck."

"I'll just bet you do," Buck said with a leer, shaking it again. "Bet it rocks and rolls with the right kind of motivation." 

"It might," Vin said, laughing, and reached in to pull out the soapy rag. 

Buck moved up behind him, pressing Vin to the wet metal, arms on either side of him, and rocked the truck again, causing their bodies to bump together. "Get the right rhythm going..." he said and Vin laughed and twisted around, grinning and flushed. 

And saw Chris.

It didn't last more than a moment, and Chris wasn't sure what was on his face but Vin's smile faded and he looked down and away before lifting his head again, more guarded. "Hey, Chris...we got your car washed anyway."

"I see that," Chris said and Buck turned too, still grinning—and still corralling Vin against his truck, Chris noticed. "You planning on finishing the others?"

Vin slipped out from under Buck's arm and retrieved the hose, rinsing his truck off. 

"Eh...mine'll wait," Buck said coming up to him, arms spread wide. Chris tried to duck, but not very hard, and felt a shiver run through him that had nothing to do with Buck getting him wet when he hugged him and kissed him. He tasted of soap and water and maybe a little beer, and a lot of desire. 

Pulling back, Chris reached up to push the wet hair back off Buck's forehead. "I got the call; the reward came through. It's in the bank, the accountant's happy, and everybody says the money's secured. I thought we might all go out to dinner to celebrate." 

"Hell, yes!" Buck said and turned around. "Hey, Vin!! We're going to dinner!"

"Ya'll have a good time," Vin called back. 

Buck raised his eyebrows. "You too," he called, then turned to Chris. "Him too, right?"

Chris smiled. "Yeah," he agreed. Louder he said, "Wouldn't be celebrating if it weren't for you, Vin," he added. 

Vin cut the water and approached, and Chris noticed a slight return of the wariness Vin had shown early on, not so marked but... maybe he was imagining it. 

"I got no plans," Vin said cautiously. "Figure y'all ought to celebrate in private, stead of having to babysit me," he added, offering a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Oh, we manage to find plenty of time for that private celebratin'," Buck assured him in a way that made Chris want to elbow him in the ribs, and slung an arm around Chris's shoulders. "Come with us, Vin. Have a few beers, nice big steak...good-looking waiters," he added.

Vin smiled again, more honest this time. "None can compare, Buck."

"Ain't that the God's honest truth," Buck agreed heartily. 

Vin grinned too but it was Chris's face he was watching and after a moment, he nodded. "Let me finish rinsing the truck off and I'll be right in."

"Take your time, Vin," Buck said with an earthy chuckle that Chris's hindbrain responded to entirely against his will. "I think I've got an appetizer I need to see to that'll take me a few minutes."

"Few minutes?" Vin said, voice positively derisive. "Sheeit, the way you talk I figured you could do better than that."

Buck waggled his eyebrows. "'Appetizer,' I said," and Chris tensed and shivered when Buck's hand landed on his ass, fingers sliding between his thighs from behind and squeezing with a purpose. "Main course'll wait till we get home." He didn't often wonder or care what people saw when they looked at him and Buck, but then Buck didn't often grope his ass like it was property and generally telegraph what he thought they were about to do when people were around to see. 

It bothered Chris less than he'd thought it might. 

Vin went back to the truck and Buck headed inside. Chris lingered for a moment, watching Vin wash the suds away quickly. He seemed all right and not for the first time Chris let his gaze linger, traveling up and down Vin's body. He could see why Buck appreciated it, he really could.

It took some effort to acknowledge that maybe he liked it too, because while he absolutely looked at both men and women, he rarely did more than an intellectual assessment: did they look like models or not, did he recognize them, could he pick them out of a lineup. This was different. He rarely, if ever, looked at other men with sexual interest. Not before Buck and sure as hell not now that he had Buck. But he did find Vin attractive, and watching him horse around with Buck, seeing them both all lean lines and solid muscle, he had to wonder what Vin was like under the contradictions of a serious as shit hunter and the playful man he'd just seen. Did all that intensity and good humor follow him into the bedroom?

Uneasy with speculation that he thought of as strictly Buck's job in their relationship, and more than a little uncomfortable to be thinking it given that Buck's flirting had aroused his jealousy more than once, he backed away and went into the house. He could hear Buck singing in their bathroom, and smiled a little while he hunted up fresh dry clothes for both of them. A minute later he had a premonition, a second's warning before a wet, naked body pressed against him and tackled him onto the bed. Laughing, scuffling back a little, Chris wriggled onto his back and felt an illicit thrill when Buck's big hands circled his wrists, easing them up the bed and pressing them firmly against the mattress. 

Wasn't like it was hard to turn the tables, and he didn't have to hold Buck down. All he had to do to get the upper hand was say, "Come on, up on your knees for me."

Buck backed off him, lifting to his knees and straddling Chris's stretched-out legs. His hands settled easily on Chris's hipbones, teasing along the line of Chris's pants. "You should get out of these," Buck said, voice sultry and rich with promise. 

Chris shook his head and sat up, bringing his face almost even with Buck's groin. Like Pavlov's dog, Buck automatically spread his knees more, eyes going wide, pupils dilating and tongue slipping out to lick at full pink lips. Pushover. Chris smiled up at him and shook his head, painfully, intensely in love. This was what he wanted, Buck helpless to his own body and what Chris could make it feel, brought to his knees in bed, pushed into abandonment and mindless pleasure. Chris reached out and around, rubbing his palms over the cool curves of Buck's ass. It had a bulk he loved to hold on to, mostly from the running Chris knew—he'd been skinnier—dense muscle and smooth indentations, something that deserved appreciation. But the cock that had risen to stare right at him, the little flexes of muscle Buck did to make it jump before Chris's eyes, took more of his attention. 

He looked up and smiled, feeling masterful and evil and just plain good. "I'm gonna make you scream."

Buck's belly tightened, and before Chris could do more, Buck curled over him, gathering up his face and kissing him gently, deeply. "I'll scream for you anytime," Buck promised, voice soft with emotion. Chris went to work before either of them started singing Carpenters' songs. Tickling strokes between the spread thighs and further back, tiny licks over the crown of the proud erection, little teasing promises designed to get Buck involved, to make him need this until—there it was, the first tiny groan, and Chris slipped a fingertip into Buck's ass just to hear it again. Hands touched the sides of his head, fingers carded through his hair and Buck groaned again, deeper, needy. 

"C'mon, Chris, suck it," Buck urged, and the fingers in his hair tightened. 

Chris widened his jaw, pressed his tongue flat against the hot smooth underside of Buck's dick and leaned forward, practicing a skill he'd learned on this very same erection a long time ago. He swallowed to hear that suffering groan, like a tree trunk splitting slowly down its center, and Buck panted "Oh, yeah." 

Sucking Buck's dick shouldn't make him so horny. He spared a hand to adjust himself in his jeans before he did permanent damage, then refocused his attention and swallowed again. Again. He let Buck's hips do the work, not holding on or directing the action, just feeling the friction of hard slick shaft on his lips and getting harder by the second every time Buck's cock hit the back of his throat. 

"Chris..." Buck growled, threatened, barely a breath. "I'm—" it wasn't a warning. Buck's fingers clamped hard on his head and the first jerky thrust followed, and Chris held on, one arm between Buck's legs, forearm rubbing his balls and the bumpy-textured skin behind them, finger tickling just in side his ass, giving Buck entirely unneeded encouragement.

"Ahh, God—" louder, the words splintered into discrete noises, a garbled yell that was music to Chris's ears as cum hit the back of his throat, thick, streaming, almost choking him. He nuzzled his nose in Buck's pubic hair and pulled back a few inches so he could breathe, and concentrated on swallowing. 

"Chris..." 

His balls ached and his dick throbbed just at the promise in his partner's voice. Buck's flushed cock twitched and dribbled right in front of him, a fat white droplet forming at the tip. He licked it off and smiled. "You taste like soap." 

Panting, flushed, Buck looked first bewildered then insulted. "That all you can think about?"

He adjusted himself again, giving his balls a lingering squeeze. "Hell no. Go on, get ready. We'll eat first, come back, fuck each other around the room."

Buck grinned, swung out of his straddle and pressed the heel of his hand firmly against Chris's trapped erection, leaning in to brush their lips together and swipe his tongue around the inside of Chris's mouth. "You're the only one gets an appetizer?"

Chris didn't resist the urge to thrust into Buck's hand, but hell, he was on the wrong side of forty and waiting would just make later better. "Don't tempt me." 

"I live to tempt you," Buck said reasonably, and the funny thing was that he was serious. He thrived on flirtation and arousal, teasing and tender foreplay... on lust and not so tender foreplay... Buck thrived on the physical connection between them, as intense today as it had been when they'd begun. 

"I had the appetizer," Chris said, but he couldn't keep himself from rubbing against Buck's hand. His belly tightened as a jolt of pleasure shot through his groin at the almost painful pressure. "You get dessert." 

Buck dropped down beside him and kissed him tenderly, nuzzling his mouth and licking across his teeth, slick tongue making his gums tickle. When he pulled back his eyes were wide open. "Damn, but I love you."

"Me too."

The hand dallied, lingered over his crotch. "I wanna return the favor." 

"You will." 

A tiny groan of frustration escaped Buck. "I'm gonna go get dressed before I change my mind and we blow off dinner altogether."

He turned his head to watch Buck in the bathroom, eying his bare ass and his long legs, imagining himself between them. He imagined that more and more as the years went by—he did it more and more as the years went by, too. Sometimes being with Buck felt like reverse puberty; the older he got the hornier he got, saving most of it up when they were working and spending it all, and more, during their rare downtime. For now he eased off the bed and headed for the hall as the front screen slammed and Vin came in, and Chris caught a glimpse of him as he walked in, pulling his shirt off and cursing as the bandage caught in the wet fabric.

Chris glanced once back toward his and Buck's room, then followed Vin. "Vin?"

He was there at the door of his bedroom, shirt off, shorts unzippered and ready to be pushed down. Chris's eyes dropped and came up again, and his mouth dried. Vin's eyebrows rose, and then his eyes dropped just like Buck's always did, almost unconsciously checking Chris out. Chris knew Vin could see the outline of his hard dick in his jeans, and concentrated on not flushing with embarrassment. 

"He fallin' down on the job?" Vin asked, trying to make a joke of it. 

Buck was gonna be the death of him. Or he was gonna be the death of Buck, he thought darkly. "He's a bad influence on you," Chris said. "You need help with the bandage?" 

Vin met his gaze and nodded. "Thanks. Tough spot," he said and backed up, heading for the bathroom. 

Chris followed. Buck had been helping him, every morning and nights as needed. They'd changed it at the hospital when Vin went for therapy. 

The medical supplies were spread out on the bathroom counter, right alongside the empty bottle of antibiotics Vin hadn't yet thrown away. Vin spread the cream on the pad and cut the tape, then leaned against the counter so Chris could press the bandage in place. 

It looked like it was healing up okay; the skin was still puckered and red, far uglier than Buck's neatly patched scar, but it wasn't swollen or striated with red any longer and the gauze pad wasn't the bulky layered dressing that Vin had worn while he was in jail. Chris pressed the pad in place and smoothed the tape down, covering the whole thing with a clear patch. Beneath his hands Vin's skin was smooth, and cool from the water antics, the muscles of his back twitching involuntarily at the pressure on still-tender skin. 

"Looks like it's healing up good."

"That's what the doc says. Thanks," Vin said, turning around. 

"No problem," Chris said, realizing he was closer to Vin than he'd ever been save when the man had passed out on him. 

Close enough to kiss. 

Chris saw the sudden awareness flare in Vin's eyes, watched the lips parting before he went still, barely breathing. 

Chris just stood there like an idiot, wondering what it might be like, how different, realizing he'd never kissed another man before, had never kissed any man but Buck. Had never wanted to. 

"Uh… Chris?" Vin's eyes darted toward the bathroom door, and Chris didn't know if he was looking for an out or worrying that Buck would come around the corner any second. 

"He's in the shower," Chris said, a little shaken but refusing to be embarrassed about it. Weirdly, he hadn't stepped back yet. "And even if he wasn't, all the times he's hit on you—he better not decide to act stupid over this."

"This?"

Chris licked his lips and grinned despite himself. "You wishing you had a spatula now, Vin?" he asked, remembering how Vin warded Buck off with one in the kitchen more than once. 

Vin's eyes traveled over his face and Chris withstood the scrutiny, wondering if he was playing with fire here. Vin didn't feel dangerous at the moment, and Chris honestly didn't expect either of them to close the short gap between their mouths… but he got a little thrill thinking one of them could. Knowing they were both thinking it, a little. 

They were both breathing a little harder than they had been. 

"Didn't think I'd need one for you," Vin finally said. 

Hell, this stupid flirting was Buck's purview, not his. Chris stepped back like he should have done as soon as Vin turned around. "You don't." 

It was Vin who flushed though, ducking away. "Yeah. So what should I wear? Where are we going?"

"Oh, Ruth's Chris, down in Sandy Springs. Jeans are fine. Been there?" Chris fumbled for a polite answer, backing up and pissed at himself now as Vin escaped into the bedroom and opened up the dresser to pull out clothes. 

"Once. In Chicago," he said, looking up at Chris then away again to drop his clothes on the bed. "I don't have to go, Chris. I mean, I've been kind of in your space and I don't need—"

"We want you to come," Chris said, quickly, ready to curse himself for being an idiot and letting Vin see it. There was no way Buck wouldn't ask questions if Vin begged off now, and there was no way Chris was going to try to explain what had just happened back there. "It's just dinner. You can't tell me you aren't ready to get out for a little while."

He shrugged and nodded. "Yeah. I'd like to. Been to Atlanta four times in my life... never saw much of it before this time around," he said with a faint smile. 

Chris returned it. "You won't see much tonight either, just the inside of a steak house. But you may as well get to know your way around. Twenty minutes?" he added finally, backing toward the door.

"Yeah. I'll be ready," Vin said and Chris retreated. He could still taste Buck in his mouth, could still smell him on his skin, and chances were Vin could too. Fuck, if he looked at it from the right angles, what just happened was all Buck's fault anyway. 

He was surprised the shower was still going. He dropped his jeans and stepped in with Buck, working around him with long-practiced ease and edging him out from under the water. 

"How's he look?" Buck asked.

"Fine," Chris answered. "I got him bandaged up." 

"Okay. Give me a sec with the water and I'll clear out for you." Chris eased back, soaping his chest and stomach while Buck finished rinsing his hair. Water sluiced over his shoulders and down his chest, sheeting down over his belly and to his groin, a smooth steady stream pouring off the end of his still-hard dick. 

It had only been a few minutes. It seemed like longer. "Hey." 

Buck tipped his head forward in response to that quiet call, slicking his hair off his forehead, and Chris stepped up so that the water pounded them both, and made their skin slide slickly together. If Buck was startled, he didn't show it, just wrapped his arms around Chris and held him tightly for a few seconds, and Chris buried his nose in the hollow of Buck's throat, frustrated when all he could smell was soap and water. When the embrace loosened, Chris stepped away. 

"Chris?" 

Buck's eyes searched his face, checking up on him, but really there wasn't anything there to see. Nothing had happened, just some weird little cruising moment brought on by a Buck-induced hardon and an admittedly good-looking guy that left him more off-balance than he wanted to be. "You got your stitches wet."

"Stitch. One itty bitty stitch left. You can dry it for me." 

"Clear out and let me finish up." 

He quickly showered and grabbed the hair dryer pretty much right out of Buck's hand. A few minutes later he was dressed and headed out to the living room. He'd make Buck drive, he thought, needing a shot of whiskey for Dutch courage. Buck and Vin were already in the den and it looked like Vin had the same idea he did, from the almost empty highball glass in his hand. He looked far more composed—and far less annoyed—than Chris felt.

"Bar open?" Chris asked, walking between the two men. 

"Guess we're starting the celebration early," Buck said, and eased behind him again. Hands wrapped around his belly from behind and he leaned back, steadying himself with Buck's solid bulk and anchored by the weight of Buck's chin on his shoulder. "I'll drive."

Thank God Buck was here, all in ignorance covering the discomfort Chris felt. He shot a look to Vin, who seemed completely normal. Either Vin didn't notice his nerves or he was pretending he didn't. He poured his own drink. 

Vin definitely hadn't missed his discomfort. "Chris, Buck...ya'll giving me a place to stay has been real nice...but I'm thinking...I'm gonna be here for awhile, and I should probably be looking for a place of my own."

"Will you quit it, Vin? We're celebrating tonight," Buck dismissed. "Worry about it next week, or at least tomorrow. Hell you do the grocery shopping and as much of the cooking as you're doing and I'll pay you to stay."

Chris turned to watch, startled when Buck sidled right up beside Vin and put a hand to the man's waist. Chris couldn't say if Buck was checking the bandage or copping a feel, and he wanted to be annoyed but didn't really have a leg to stand on at the moment. "Vin, you're just gettin' itchy, son." He dropped an arm over Vin's shoulder, shaking him a little. "We're gonna have to find you a guy."

Vin blanched. Chris looked at the floor, back at the whiskey bottle, anywhere but Buck or Vin. But Vin laughed low and shook Buck off. "You know what, Buck?" he said on a grin. "You're probably right." 

Dinner got easy after that, with him and Vin drinking whiskey while Buck stuck to beer. The steaks were thick and tender, Buck kept tossing out fantasy vacations and unrealistic shit they could spend their new money on: "C'mon, I know you've always wanted to do an Everest attempt!" when Chris had never wanted any such thing; and "Hula girls with no bras dancing around us in the sand? We might need to take one of 'em home with us, remember how the other half lives"—and Chris had never wanted anything like that either, but it did make him share a covert and almost funny look with Vin; flying lessons and light airplanes and the brand new retro Ford Mustang. Buck had easily spent more than their half-million before they got to dessert. 

"You know, Buck," Vin said thoughtfully if a little slurred, sometime around when the waiter brought the check, "you're the life of your own party."

Buck puffed up and grinned and started on a whole new and more sex-related list of ideas while Chris and Vin shared a grin with each other. Even if Buck guessed he'd just been insulted, the man would never admit to it. 

Saturday, May 26

Buck was feeling particularly mellow after he and Chris dragged their butts out of bed. They'd gotten home late and the three of them had had another drink before Vin peeled off to the front bedroom and Buck peeled off Chris's clothes. Chris had been a little high all night, with an angry edge to him that revved Buck's engine but good, and he'd had no trouble taking advantage of that edge and letting Chris take advantage of him right back; even after a good night's sleep his body felt lax and lazy and good. 

He heard Vin stirring when he chased Chris into the kitchen for coffee and a little nuzzling, then Chris had grinned and chased him out while he pulled out a skillet. 

Buck wandered back through the silent house, liking the way the cotton of his tee shirt and the tough denim of his jeans rubbed against his skin, heating up the raw patches and reminding all of it how awake and satisfied it was. He ran up on Vin in the living room and leaned against the doorframe, curious that Vin was so caught up he hadn't even heard Buck come in. Vin was studying the family photos again, his eyes lingering on the wedding pictures; Buck entertained himself for a second pretending Vin was admiring him in his younger tuxedoed glory. 

"Mornin'," he said. 

Vin jerked around and looked guilty. "Mornin'." 

"You have fun last night?"

Vin nodded, then cracked a leer. "Not as much fun as it sounds like y'all did." 

"Ooh boy, you listenin' at the keyhole?" Buck asked, amused and a little smug. 

"Don't have to, with you two," Vin mock-grumbled. "All I had to do was go to the kitchen for water—could hear you over the damned sink running." But there was no malice at all in his voice. In fact… 

"Something wrong with the sink in your bathroom?" he asked, and grinned when Vin's neck went red. "So you had a little fun all by yourself, huh?" he teased. "You got an active imagination, Vin? Not that you need one around here, but—"

"Quit it," Vin frowned, but the way his ears tinged to match his neck was all Buck needed to know. 

He had half a mind to go on about it, tease Vin a little more, but the man's attention had gone back to the photographs on the shelf, looking for and finding the traditional "happy couple" picture. The corners of Vin's mouth tugged down in a in a concentrated little frown.

"She remind you of somebody?" he asked, leaning up against the doorframe. 

Vin jerked around, looking guilty. "No."

Buck wondered if Vin might just possibly be looking for the similarities between them, as far as they went. "Me and Chris," he said, deciding what the hell, "we were pretty wild when we were young. Tight, depended on each other, but I had about half a world of women to work my way through and I think he was a lot more straight than he ever was gay back then. Or," he paused, considering, "he was more scared of it anyway. We both were. We were fuck buddies but we didn't let it get in the way of anybody else we wanted to chase after, and when he met Sarah… oh Vin," he smiled, remembering that rainy night and that rain-soaked, laughing woman, "you should've seen 'em together. They were perfect for each other—I mean, you could see it, almost from the start… maybe like your Chanu and Claire. 

"I was happier for him than I could say, because we were on the force by that time and we both thought we'd grown out of the, uh, boys phase."

Vin chortled at that. "The 'boys' phase?" 

"Hey," Buck chided, blushing a little and grinning widely, "it was the 1990s. You of all people have to remember how crazy things could be back then. It was easier to play for the home team, and a lot easier to let go of each other when women lit us both up like they did."

"This gonna be another one of your 'I'm irresistable' stories, Buck?" Vin asked, suspicious, and way too sober to be teasing. 

"No. This is an, 'I didn't fall in love with him until a long time after she died' story," Buck said. "I never had to pine for him, or feel like I was giving him up because I never even wanted him for the long term, just for myself that way, until a couple of years after she and Adam were gone."

He watched Vin's throat work on a long swallow, watched his pale eyes flicker back toward the photographs. "Why are you tellin' me this?" he asked. 

Buck didn't rightly know. "I guess I just didn't want you feelin' bad for me… or for yourself, Vin. Sarah's got no cause to remind you of, well, of anything. It wasn't the same."

"Well." Vin paused a long time, just staring at the pictures. 

"Come on, Vin," Buck said, "Chris has got breakfast on." 

Over a thrown-together breakfast, they coached Vin on the grocery list and told him where the nearest stores were, and offered him use of the home-office computer to print himself a map. The US attorneys had rescheduled his grand jury testimony, and Buck knew Vin had given them at least a little of what he had. Vin offered to clean up so Buck herded Chris into the living room and turned the TV on low. He wanted the background noise, mostly, something to compete with the hum of the air conditioner, but it didn't hurt that it was of his favorite cartoons.

Vin stuck his head in a while later. "I'm goin' out for awhile, pick up the groceries. Anybody want anything not on the list?"

Buck looked up and grinned, the friendliness between them so easy... He sent his eyes walking down Vin's body and back up, answered, "Mmm mmm, that ain't a question I ought to answer."

Vin sucked in a laughing breath and looked to Chris. "He ever actually put out, or is he all talk?"

Buck snorted; now that wasn't something he'd ever been accused of before. He shared a laugh with Chris over the very idea, and when Vin ducked out before anybody could get a word in, Buck returned his attention to the sports section.

"Hey."

Chris's voice was soft, introspective, and it called Buck's eyes up immediately. "Yeah?"

"You ever stepped out on me?" he asked idly.

Buck stiffened in his chair and fought down a glare. He hadn't even seriously wanted anybody else, and even if he had, he damned sure wouldn't have— "You have to ask?" he said.

"Nope, I don't," he replied agreeably, refusing to rise to the challenge or even get ruffled at the anger in Buck's voice, which put Buck off balance somehow. Then Chris looked toward the front of the house, and the sound of the truck engine that was fading down the drive. "I just, I've never seen you flirt with somebody like that since we, you know, since us." 

Buck frowned, puzzled. "I flirt with people all the time, Chris."

"Not like that," Chris said.

His voice was so calm and even, Buck wondered if he was hiding something. "Chris?"

"I just... it's different with you two. Like it means something."

Buck cast back over the past week, looking at his own behavior, at Vin's. Chris was right; something was different with Vin. He couldn't say what, and he hadn't seriously considered following through on anything more serious than copping a friendly feel, but... he caught and held Chris's eyes. The last thing he wanted was for Chris to doubt him, or worry about some shit like that. "You don't have cause to worry. Just, I, Vin's just..." he struggled, trying and failing to find the right words. 

But Chris surprised him by smiling and kind-of prowling across the room and mounting his legs in the recliner. Buck squeezed his legs together and made room for Chris's knees on either side of his thighs. They were a tight fit, but they'd managed before. He tipped his head back. 

"It means… something. Nothing I'm really worried about, and I wasn't complaining," Chris went on, eyes focused on his fingers, fingers teasing up Buck's waist to expose an inch of skin above his jeans. "It's not—I don't..." when Chris stalled again, Buck just rubbed gently at the small of his back and waited. "I trust you, Buck. And I'm not worried." He finally met Buck's eyes and looked a little flustered. "Maybe it's a little sexy," he said, looking confused himself. 

Buck grinned. "He is pretty." 

Chris frowned, but didn't respond to the tease. "You and me, we're all right," he said. 

Before Buck could think how to respond to that, because he was positive that Chris flirting seriously would bother the hell out of him, Chris bent down and kissed him, effectively ending that conversation and starting a better one.

Chris's eyes carried an intense speculation that warmed Buck from the inside, and he couldn't help but smile as hands burrowed down into the back corners of the chair to grab his tee shirt hem and drag it up. He cooperated fully, raising his arms and crossing his wrists so Chris could pull the cotton up and off and, on a whim, grasping the chair arms with his hands and nodding up at his lover. Speculation colored with amusement, Chris obeyed the silent look, pulling off his own shirt and baring his chest, arching his back as Buck reached to tweak at his nipples. Buck's stomach tightened and his groin twitched automatically.

"Come here," he ordered, and curled his hands over shoulder blade and neck, opening his mouth against Chris's and sharing spit and love and pleasure... kissing him was so good. Chris had a languorous style before sexual tension wound him too tight, like he couldn't decide if he wanted to make out or fall asleep. No hurry. Everything focused on what he was doing right in that moment, mouth pressing just hard enough to form a seal, tongue fucking his mouth as much as it teased. 

Soon enough their cocks got into the game and Chris slid his hips forward, teasing Buck's, while Buck insinuated a hand between them to cop a feel. He liked how Chris's cock felt behind jeans, thick fabric drawn all tight because Chris wanted him so bad, the hard bar of flesh barely giving to the press of his fingers. 

Chris grunted and humped forward a little, and broke the kiss enough to smile against his mouth. This had the feel of secret intimacy, of tender care and a slow pace that Buck anticipated with heightened breath and rising desire. He always wanted Chris, even when he didn't get around to showing it. And when Chris was all frisky and soft like this, well— 

The door slammed out front and Chris jerked his head back and turned as Buck did, staring with combined discomfort and anger at Vin when he jogged into the room. "Y'all got any—" he stopped short, and his eyes widened. He stared long enough that Chris's body tightened and he started to pull away but Buck, angry in a sexually distracted sort of way, clamped down on Chris's ass to hold him still. 

Vin jerked then, like a little jolt of electricity had shot through him. "Guess he does put out," he said, ducking his head, obviously embarrassed but just as obviously amused, and trying not to smile.

"You little shit," Buck sighed, amused, as Vin turned away.

"What happened?" Chris called.

Vin stopped in the hall, his back still turned to them. "Huh?"

"We didn't hear the truck."

"Oh. Engine stalled out, I thought I might get a jump—" Buck chortled even as Vin's shoulders stiffened and Chris glared down at him. 

"Take my car," Chris said. "Keys are in the kitchen." Chris glared again when Buck felt him up, ordered, "Cut it out, he'll be gone in thirty seconds."

"Our house," Buck declared, determined to be obstinate on that point. "He doesn't like it, he can leave."

Chris's brows drew together and his lips pursed into a pensive bow. "It's more likely he likes it too much."

Buck thought about that for a second, wondering if it was true. Vin gave as good as he got, and who didn't get a little hot listening to people going at it? While Chris might have a point about things feeling pretty comfortable with Vin, Buck thought it had more to do with their shared professions and backgrounds than any interest Vin had in them personally. Vin was just easy to be around, easy to play with, and he lapped up the flirting like a puppy getting its tummy rubbed. Harmless. He shook his head fondly, trying not to look like a parent staring at a stupid but sweet child because face it, that was a weird thought to have when he still had his hand on Chris's cock. 

It was obvious that he'd failed when Chris growled, "What?" 

"Stop worrying about him," Buck admonished. He tugged at Chris's hands and drew them deep into the shadows between their groins, pressing lax fingers against his own erection. "Worry about this." But Chris's didn't give in until they heard the Camaro's throaty engine turn over. 

Sunday, May 27

"Did you tell the boys to come out today?" Chris asked as the front porch screen slammed behind them and they started their run slowly down the driveway. 

"Couldn't keep 'em away if we tried, pard," Buck said, grinning. "They all want their share of the money. And I'm hoping we can get a little work done, but Nathan's bringing Raine. JD said he might bring Casey," Buck chuckled, "so I figure he hasn't worked up the nerve to ask her yet." 

Chris grinned. Those two acted like they were about 12 years old whenever they got near each other. "Ought to go in to work today instead," Chris started. "Look through that stuff of Vin's, get backup copies of everything just in case."

"I won't stop you, but I'm not going," Buck replied, his voice sounding as stubborn as the set of his chin looked. "We've had one day off in weeks. Damn it, even God rested more'n us." 

"God didn't have as much work waiting for him as we do," Chris argued. 

Buck just frowned and picked up the pace. 

Ezra was the first to arrive barely past noon, the bleep of his alarm calling Buck and Vin around the side of the house. They played sherpa while Ezra handed off six-packs of beer and grocery bags. "You're actually making a contribution to the food, Ezra?" Chris asked, holding the front door open for them. 

"It's better than being forced to eat Buck's chicken salad again," he groused, but his eyes were alight. They unloaded in the kitchen and JD, Josiah, Nathan and Raine showed up before they were done. 

"Where's Casey?" Buck asked him, stepping out of the way of the kitchen crowd. 

"I forgot to call her," JD said, so obviously lying that even Chris laughed. 

"All you had to do was pick up a phone, kid," Buck taunted. "What's that girl got on you that has you so scared of her?" 

"Nothing! I just… shut up, Buck!" JD said, red all the way to his hairline. 

But Buck was full of piss and vinegar and in far too good a mood to leave JD alone. He chased him out the back door, and Chris followed, watching them from the deck while they roughhoused. 

The screen door clattered behind him and Josiah stepped up beside him holding a beer. "Chris. Beautiful day."

"Yeah, it is," he said, reluctantly admitting to himself that the day off was better than a day on. 

A crash from inside the kitchen had Chris turning, but he stopped as soon as Nathan yelled, "Raine!" and she replied both dry and calm, "Nathan?"

Josiah winked at him. "If it weren't for the size of her stomach I'd almost swear that Nathan's the pregnant one." 

Buck herded everybody outside and settled his hip against the deck rail, happy to be among friends. There weren't many folks who came to visit, just a few cops on the line who they'd stayed in touch with, an old girlfriend or two of Buck's who still enjoyed a good gossip over hot coffee, and these men they worked with. Except for when his mom visited, the house never seemed so full to him as these rare occasions when all the guys were here. 

Even as he thought it, Ezra flipped his bottle cap toward the grill, hitting it square on the lid so it tinked before falling onto the bricks somewhere beyond. "You're pickin' that up before you go," Chris said to Ezra. 

"Trust me, I'm really not." Ezra grinned and kicked off his shoes—he was walking well now, his feet pretty much back to normal—and headed for the hammock, and Buck turned to watch him drop down into it, lying so he could keep a good view of the show on the deck. 

Buck didn't blame him at all. 

A couple of hours later, Buck came out of the john and heard Ezra on the deck through the open slider door. 

"You couldn't just look in the Yellow Pages?" Ezra hissed. 

Well that tone needed some following up on. Buck eased closer to the wall and inched the curtain back enough to see. Vin looked nervous but determined. Ezra's face was all puckered up. 

"Why don't you ask Chris or Buck?" Ezra asked. 

"I just—I didn't want to ask them, all right? Hell, would you want Buck knowing you were on the prowl? He wouldn't leave it alone."

"He'd want the play-by-play," Ezra agreed, his distaste mitigated now by a little compassion. "Gay bars," he said anyway. 

"Well," Vin grinned slightly, "the other kind wouldn't do me much good. I'm just lookin' for a friendly place."

"A friendly place." Ezra looked like he'd been sucking on lemons now, but Vin just looked stubborn and nodded. 

He thought Vin might have to squirm a little more, that Ezra might need to rub it in, but Ezra snatched the kitchen pad and pen out of Vin's hands and started writing. 

He wrote for a long time, and Buck decided right then that he was going to see that piece of paper before the day was out. 

Vin pocketed the paper and nodded. "Thanks, Ez. Owe you one."

"By my calculations, Vin, you owe me about 50 for this alone." Ezra sighed, long and hard, and rubbed the back of his neck. "Do not get unmanageably drunk in one of these places. The police can't pick on the negroes anymore so they tend to focus on the gays." 

Vin grinned a little. "Thanks for the advice, Ezra. Really."

"Yes, well. Feel free to do anything I wouldn't do." They headed toward the kitchen door and Buck bounced onto and over the mattress to get back in the hall before they came inside. 

Things were wearing down—Nathan was reading a baby magazine he'd brought with him and Raine had gone for some fresh air in the backyard—so Buck decided it was time to cook. He palmed Chris's ass and steered him out to fire up the grill then started opening Ezra's contributions of hamburger and bulk-packaged flank steaks. 

When Ezra nudged him out of the way to reach for a fresh beer. "I understand," he said casually, "that Vin received some information." 

"How'd you understand that?" Buck asked with a frown. 

Ezra grinned. "I might have overheard him and Chris discussing it." 

"Like I might've overheard you and Vin discussing the gay bars?" he grinned right back. 

Ezra scowled at him. "Leave me alone. It's your fault he asked me anyway." Before Buck could get on a roll he moved on. "The information. It would be wise for us to take a look at it, don't you think?"

Actually, Buck did. "Hey, Vin!" he hollered. "Come in here!" 

Vin jogged in a second later. "Yeah?" 

"I thought after dinner we might spread out all that intel you got and go through it, see if there's something we can figure out that you might've missed." 

Vin frowned and cast a dark look Ezra's way. "Don't a man have any privacy in this here town?"

Buck tried hard not to smile; the man had no idea. "Not really." 

Ezra said, "In this case I think privacy is overrated. Kincaid's killing happened here in Atlanta. Josiah worked in the correctional system and the rest of us have some familiarity with criminals. It's not inconceivable that some piece of information you have could be added to by one of us." 

Buck watched Vin closely. He didn't look comfortable about the idea, not at all. "Vin?" he said. "You got something needs saying?"

Vin just shook his head, but the discomfort didn't fade. "After we eat. If you and Chris are up for it, fine. I'll show you what I showed the US attorneys on Friday that got me out of the grand jury testimony. For now, anyway." Vin grinned tightly. 

"That's the spirit. Hey, where's the ball box?" He scratched at his healing shoulder, glad now that Chris had finally succumbed and tugged the one remaining stitch out, but the last of the scabbing was coming off and the scar was tender. "I think I've got some good touch football in me today." 

"I'll referee," Ezra said quickly. 

They went out to the backyard and Ezra wound up playing anyway while Chris cooked and Raine kept him company. Buck, JD and Vin took on Ezra, Nathan and Josiah, and they worked their way back and forth across the yard between the hammock and a Freesia bush, arguing over every play because Ezra was cheating like he had money on the game, and laughing a lot. 

"Supper's on!" Chris called from the porch, and Buck slung an arm around Vin's shoulders and herded him over. The steaks actually weren't half-bad once Chris had slathered them with barbeque sauce, so Buck got charitable and thanked Ezra for the meal. 

"Yeah Ez," JD chimed in, "this is good stuff." The rest of the boys followed suit while Raine smiled and kept noticeably silent; she was a hell of a cook herself and so was Nathan, and she was probably choking down the man-swill to be polite. 

When they were making quick work of cleanup in the kitchen, Vin cleared his throat. "Ezra thought it might be a good idea for some of us to look through some of the stuff I handed over to the feds Friday. See if they might know something I don't."

"Not a bad idea," Josiah said. "What is it you have, Vin?" 

Chris looked between Josiah, Ezra, and Buck, wondering when they'd conspired to be productive. 

"Whole lot of background on Eli Joe Whitney," Vin said, and dragged a hand through his hair. "I've spent a lot of time on his tail, seen him in Dallas and San Antonio with James. Taken some pictures."

"Well bring it on out and let's take a look," Josiah said. 

"JD?" Vin said. "You mind giving me a hand fetching it all?"

"A hand?" Ezra said as they left the kitchen. "Just how much does he have?"

"A lot," Chris admitted. 

JD and Vin hauled in two big piles and Vin started laying notebooks and picture stacks in some kind of clear order on the table. "They're sort-of organized," Vin said as he leafed through folders, confirming for Chris once and for all that the guy was obsessed about Whitney. 

"Yes, yes," Ezra said, pretending to ignore him as he leaned over a pile.

Raine eased up out of her chair and waddled to her husband. "How long do you boys plan to be?" she asked him. 

Nathan looked to Chris. Chris had no idea, and shrugged in reply. "How long you want to wait?"

"I'll find something to watch on television and pry you away if I get bored, how's that?" 

Chris had always liked Raine. She was pragmatic, brilliant, and saucy enough to spice up any conversation. Just like her husband knew the demands of her job, she understood the demands of his. 

"Thanks," Nathan said quietly, and leaned in for a quick kiss before letting her leave. "Now," he said to Vin, "what is all this?"

"Pictures and stuff," Vin said. "A few details on where Whitney goes and what he does."

Ezra had already leafed through four of the notebooks. "Vin, has anyone ever defined the word 'stalker' to you?" he asked musingly.

"Has anyone ever defined the word 'asshole' to you?" Vin shot back sourly. 

"A number of times actually," Ezra said, sorting through a stack of photos like he was shuffling a deck of cards. 

"Come on, let's get to work." The seven of them squeezed into a space for six and each dug in to something. Ezra and Nathan focused on the pictures while Chris, Buck and Josiah skimmed the notebooks. JD got bored after about ten minutes with no idea what they were looking for, and walked out onto the back deck. Cigarette smoke wafted in a minute later, and Chris shut the door to keep from being tempted to go out and bum one for himself. It wasn't worth Buck's bitching, not by a long shot. 

With no formal background in detective or police work Vin hadn't really known what he should record, so his journals held a lot of trivia that wouldn't be useful. On the other hand, because he got so detailed there was plenty an investigative team could use: license plate numbers, dates and times, street addresses, descriptions, and references to film roll and frame numbers so that written descriptions could be correlated with the faces he'd photographed. Vin had to make a pretty good living to have covered his expenses and dedicated all this time to following Whitney around. Obviously the guy wasn't starving.

Or maybe he was. 

Vin lived pretty simply if his truck and his cabin were anything to go by. Either he lived that way because he preferred it—and the fact he was using store-brand shampoo and rubber bands from the office on his hair spoke to that a little—or because he was poor. His criminal recovery record suggested the former, but Chris didn't ask. He stuck to direct questions about Vin's notebooks, and Vin confessed that all he'd given the Atlanta feds was pictures without much backup. He dug through dated folders and envelopes until he they got to the last few months and started turning the pages with no little interest. Whitney had been to Texas three times in the last ten months that Vin knew of, twice in Dallas and once in San Antonio where Stuart James had a sprawling ranch. Chris counted eight numbered descriptions, with "known associate" written beside each. 

"These numbers mean folks he actually looked to be working with, or did you write down the waitresses who took his orders at restaurants, too?" Chris asked, making room when JD came back in.

"No waitresses, no waiters. No strippers," Vin added with a wry smile. "These are people he ate with, or rode in cars with, or talked to for more time than it'd take to smoke a cigarette. They're cross-referenced here, see?" He pointed and explained how the same numbers were used for the same people from one trip to the next, to the best that Vin could manage it on memory alone. "And these two guys, they've been to Eli Joe's place in Denver a few times too."

"Seriously Vin," Chris said, "I think Buck's right. You need to get yourself a life." He grinned but Vin didn't. 

"I'll just be happy to get my own life back, Chris." 

Chris stopped trying after that. He sucked at cheerful small talk; that was Buck's job anyway, but Buck was too busy scanning the piled information to bother. 

"So let me see if I understand this," Josiah said some time later while he stretched his arms up over his head. "Whitney set you up in the army and you got discharged. We believe he was as dirty as they come back then and that he's only gotten dirtier since."

"I think so, yeah," Vin said.

Josiah leaned onto the back legs of his chair until Chris reached to thump it back down on all fours. "All right. You spend a little of your spare time following Whitney around and looking for a way to get back at him legally for what he's done. You've got a boatload of information that trained investigators could probably stretch a long way in terms of circumstantial evidence. Your problem, Vin, is that you got caught following Whitney and he set you up for the murder of Kincaid."

"Yeah," Vin said more slowly, frowning this time. 

"And that really, you don't know what you've gotten yourself mixed up in."

"I think I've got a pretty good idea…"

"I've skimmed a lot of this material and I don't have any idea," Josiah said. "Vin, if one in twenty of the people you've photographed Whitney with have criminal records, plenty of folks could want you dead even without this Stuart James connection. Or you might have stumbled into an organized crime syndicate, son. You happen to have any idea which is more likely?" Vin shook his head. "What have you learned about James independent of Whitney?" Josiah asked him. 

The frown only deepened. "What makes you think I've learned anything?"

"Seems likely from your notes that Whitney works for James on some kind of regular basis. What with your interest in Whitney, I'd expect you've done a little digging."

"This is why I don't like showing people this stuff," Vin said tiredly, but he straightened up in his chair and planted his elbows on the table. "James is a big property owner and it seems most people think he's in oil, but I don't know if the rigs on his land produce enough to keep my truck running. There was a fire on his ranch down in San Antonio, a good many years back. A few months later I heard about an arms dealer out of Asia, a fella the US Marshals and ATF had been after. The case was marked closed because the man was dead, burned alive in Texas on the same date of that truck fire on James's land. San Antonio newspapers said they thought one guy got just far enough out of the truck to burn to death instead." Vin glanced at Chris. "Sorry," he said. 

The telling made him queasy but there was some distance to it. Several states and several years' worth of distance, but the look Buck gave him meant maybe it still wasn't far enough. He shook his head at Buck, offering up a ghost of a smile before looking back to Vin.

"Anyway. Ayen—the arms dealer—turns out the San Antonio coroner had ruled the cause of death to be blunt trauma to the head. They figured he'd been hit by falling debris. But the M.O. looked enough like Eli Joe's to get me curious, and multiple murders would've put him away for life."

"You are predictable," Chris said and slid out of his chair to fetch more beers. He held up bottles and counted nodding heads while Vin just gave him a weak smile. 

"A couple of years later I was running a skip down in Dallas and tripped over Eli Joe. I already had a prisoner, but I hung around long enough to get some pictures, ask some questions. The man he was meeting was Stuart James. James had been under investigation for about two seconds for that same fire even though the papers hadn't printed a word about him. Still looked like it could be murder and since some of those Mexican bodies were young women I could see trafficking too, maybe. I signed on for a couple of months on one of James' feeder ranches, moving mommas and their calves, poked around a little. I got some pictures of trucks moving over the range at night. Smuggling illegals isn't that uncommon when you live on the border. 

"That fall was the fire in Oklahoma City. One of James's subsidiaries owned the property. Don't know what was in it that James decided he had to hide, or if he was just after the insurance. But Tom Glenn—he's a friend of mine, US Marshall—told me the ATF had been investigating, thinking someone was moving heavy weapons through it. They never found any evidence in what was left of that fire, so if anything was there, James got it moved first."

Josiah said, "You might have made a good criminal investigator, Vin," and Chris wondered if Josiah was serious because from where he was sitting, luck was the only thing that had kept Vin alive. And if Vin had actually provided some of this intel to the right people along the way, Whitney might have been locked up long before Kincaid ever became a target for murder. 

"Okay," Chris said. "So we've got a dead arms dealer who somehow got in with the migrants James was smuggling. Vin, you know for a fact that the Oklahoma property belonged to James?" 

Vin nodded. "I looked it up myself in the county recorder's office. The owner was a company James owns."

"Good enough. Eli Joe may have been the torch, and that's another connection. Sounds like evidence enough for Cruz and Palminteri to go for the indictment they want," Chris said. 

"I'd say yes, but I think maybe Ayen's the son or brother or something of somebody political. Somebody the US of A does not want to piss off."

"He died trying to get in or out of the country by bunking in with illegals," Buck said, not seeming to see any connection and making Chris wonder if his own instinct was steering him wrong. "What? His kin didn't know what he was doing on the side?"

"I got no idea, Buck."

"What if this guy's death was arranged?" Ezra asked the room at large, saving Chris from having to do it. It was still just intuition so he didn't want to put it out there, but the pieces fit. 

Buck looked surprised but Vin nodded. "I'd been thinkin' that myself," he said. "If the guy had some kind of immunity or influence so they couldn't arrest him but they weren't willing to just sit by and let him get away with arms smuggling, or whatever dealing he did?"

Buck blinked at that. "You know this?"

"Of course not, but hell Buck, what if they just wanted him out of the picture? What if James knows he did them a favor, or has something over somebody in the government somewhere? He's too dirty not to have been investigated before, isn't he?"

"We are talking about Texas," Ezra said, snide. "They like their criminality over there." 

"But this much?" Nathan chimed in. 

"James hasn't been arrested," Ezra pointed out, "so I'd go with 'yes'." 

"James doesn't look this dirty to anybody outside this room," Buck reminded them. "Orrin Travis didn't know about any of this." 

"We think," Ezra said. 

"Shut up, Ezra," Chris ordered and pinched at the bridge of his nose. Having a suspicious sonofabitch working for him was a good thing. Usually. 

"Maybe they didn't intend for it to happen," JD said, getting excited. "Maybe they slipped this Asian guy in there hoping James would just move him with the others. But guys, 9/11 reshuffled a lot of agencies. Maybe somebody who was in on it, who maybe engineered it even, got bumped up a level or two—or heck, they just could have got demoted, and scared. If Kincaid hadn't started to testify, maybe nobody would have ever looked at Stuart James!" 

"Wild speculation," Ezra said, which it was. Chris didn't point out that Ezra had started it. 

JD was practically bouncing in his chair and Chris would bet if he stood close enough he'd hear James Bond music playing inside the kid's head. "Something's kept James from coming to trial all these years. Somebody in the government's gonna get exposed if they don't keep him safe!" 

Buck and Vin sat a little straighter at that. "Maybe Kincaid found out something. So he calls the US attorney's office. James comes to trial, and there's a whole lot of shit to be spread around 'cause he's not going to be quiet. If this goes high up enough, they'd try to get the case kicked. It'd be too risky to try and shut James up any other way, they wouldn't know what plans he had in case of, uh, an untimely demise."

Ezra leaned back in his chair and clapped his hands. "The two of you should write for the movies," he derided. 

"Hey, it could happen!" JD said, indignant.

"Fine, it could," Ezra said. "But we don't have a shred of evidence of government corruption—do we, Vin?"

Chris turned his eyes to Vin, who looked distinctly uncomfortable. "No." 

"We don't have evidence of any government involvement, right?" Chris asked. 

Vin nodded and slumped a little lower. "Right." 

Buck sat back, chewing that all over and Chris did the same but he leaned in, raising his beer and tipping the bottle Vin's way. "So what have we actually got?" he asked, trying to bring them down to earth a little. "Maybe Kincaid's testimony covered some of this. If we could get a look at it, try to piece it together from the investigation already in progress…." 

"Not likely," Buck said, and scrubbed at his face with both hands. "Chris, you said yourself that Charlene's playing things close to the vest. You think Orrin could shake something loose?" 

Chris didn't know. "Vin, how come you're holding this back? If you trade them this, they can make you a deal, a good one. They'd want you as a witness in the case against James and they'd want your notes entered into the court record because they want the circumstantial evidence that could implicate James in Kincaid's death. I doubt they'll expect you to cooperate from death row."

Vin's eyes narrowed. 

"Point is, Vin," Buck said, catching on, "they won't want you convicted of the crime. They can't tie you to anybody, and any speculation they have wouldn't help their own case. If you take the hit for the Kincaid murder, it'll be harder to direct culpability to James." He raised his eyebrows at Chris and Chris nodded back. 

"Even if you do get prosecuted for the murder, your defense lawyer will try his damnedest to get these records into evidence. James could still be implicated, now that we've placed Whitney at the crime scene. Either way, the stuff you have will give the US attorneys here plenty of extra ammunition to hunt James with and it's not like anybody higher up—"

"—if they exist," Ezra cut in.

"—if they exist," Chris conceded, "would have the clout to stop this investigation, if your records pan out. Hell, how high up would you have to be, to pull US Attorneys off a case where an old partner confessed and with this much background going for it?" 

Josiah rolled his head back and forth on his neck, getting Chris's attention without even saying a word. When he looked back down he seemed surprised that Chris was looking at him but he said, "High up enough that you could have arranged an accident for James years ago," he said calmly. "I think I'm with Ezra on this idea of crooked politicians or whoever. Seems more likely we're dealing with your everyday, garden variety criminals." 

"And that's why James won't quit," Buck said. "If he doesn't eliminate the problem—Vin, and all this stuff Vin has—then he'll go down regardless of whether he's really got anything on somebody in the government. He's got nothing to lose at this point." 

"This is ridiculous," Ezra snapped out sharply. "Do you people have any idea how screwed you are when I'm the voice of reason among us? All we know is that Eli Joe Whitney has reason to see Vin convicted of the Kincaid murder. And that somebody was trying to shut him up permanently in Wyoming. That's all we really know."

"Plus everything in these notebooks," Josiah said. 

"Yeah," Buck grinned. "Plus that." 

Ezra started spinning his empty bottle by its neck, grating the bottom against the tabletop. "Vin, I don't mean to sound ungrateful for the cash you've made us or the work you've done this week." Ezra eased his chair back slightly and pushed the pictures a few inches further onto the table. 

"But?" Chris prompted him. 

"But I can't help pointing out that it's a bad idea for any of us to get involved further," he said, looking at Chris. "Regardless of JD's flights of fancy, there's still more going on here than a simple homicide case. I can't see where the profit is in digging any deeper." 

"I'm sure there's a profit Ezra. I just doubt it's for anybody sittin' at this here table," Vin said darkly. 

"Besides," Chris said, "we're already involved."

"We don't have to stay that way," Ezra said, voice bland and mild and all the more reasonable for it. 

"I been thinkin' that myself," Vin said slowly. "None of you is so involved you can't pull out, and maybe it's better if you do."

"Good thing you're not deciding for us then," Buck said. "Me, I say we go forward with what we've got." He looked at Vin, then met Chris's eyes for a second. "You interested in backing down, Chris?'

Chris glared at him, but shook his head. "No." 

There wasn't much to say after that. 

Chris ushered the company out shortly after, handing out their cuts of Vin's reward money—not putting too big a dent in their big pile of cash, but plenty to make the members of W&L happy. 

After, Buck called a moratorium on anything that looked like intrigue and chased Vin around the house a couple of times until he turned on Buck and tried to tackle him to the ground. Chris caught that bit out the kitchen window and watched them tussle for a minute before he went to the door and called it quits. "Either one of you pulls something you shouldn't, I'm not patching you up," he warned, and both of them slinked into the kitchen a minute later with matching grins on their faces. Vin eased onto the kitchen bench and Buck of course slid in right beside him, up close. He distracted Vin by making the man completely miserable, which to Chris's mind was pretty funny as the gay bar story came out. 

"You asked Ezra?" Chris said. He hadn't realized Vin could flush quite so red under that tan. 

"You know what I thought would happen if I asked Buck?" Vin demanded. "Exactly what's happenin' right now." 

"You've got a point Vin. But forget it, Buck would've found out anyway. You know how some people are supposed to have gaydar?" he asked. 

"I've got laydar," Buck announced smugly. 

"You are so full of shit, Wilmington," Vin snorted.

Chris backed him up. "He's not kidding. Buck thinks he can tell when somebody's gotten laid. And believe me, he's right a hell of a lot more often than he's wrong." 

"Yeah," Buck affirmed. "So don't worry about it. Besides, I'm the one said you needed to go fishin', remember? Hell, I'd tell you to go out tonight if I thought you'd listen to me." 

"But I won't," Vin scowled, flushing a little. 

"But you should. There's a place or two I could tell you to go that would have just what the doctor ordered—" 

"Buck?" Chris asked, hoping to distract Buck and give Vin a breather, "you gonna sit on your ass and watch me clean up or are you gonna get up and help?" 

Buck made a big show of sliding off the bench and heading toward the sink but at the last second he veered off to the fridge and grabbed a beer. He uncapped it as he slid back onto the bench and tossed Chris a shit-eating grin. "I'm gonna sit on my ass and watch." 

"I'll help, Chris," Vin offered and slid the long way around the bench rather than try and make Buck get up for him. That would have led to Buck copping a feel and probably circling right back around to his argument that Vin needed to get laid and then tell Buck all about it, so Chris's estimation of Vin's intelligence ticked up another notch. 

They got the kitchen as clean as a whistle and Vin even took a turn with the dust mop for the hardwood floors in the common rooms, then Buck, turned on by all the housekeeping, manhandled Chris into a comfortable position stretched between his legs and lengthwise along the couch. He leaned his head back on Buck's ribcage as Vin eased into the La-Z-Boy, but it wasn't long before Vin said his goodnights. Chris was as determined as Buck not to think about work for the moment because all they were doing was running around in circles and they knew it, but it was hard not to give in to speculation. Every time he drew in a breath to say something though, Buck would reach down and goose him in the side, getting him right in that ticklish place behind his armpit that he despised so much. 

He figured after a few tries that he was getting pretty well conditioned, so the next time he drew a breath, he was ready to grab Buck's wrist with his opposite hand and wriggle around onto his belly, then up to his hands and knees. He reckoned Buck ought to be thankful he hadn't gotten an accidental elbow to the crotch with that maneuver, and told Buck so: Buck's thighs clenched hard against his waist in reaction to just the words, making Chris chuckle and crawl up a little higher until all their parts were generally aligned. 

Then he dropped his weight down hard, grinned at the involuntary "oof" Buck let out, and rested his cheek against Buck's collarbone. "You ready for bed?" 

"I was until you scared my dick," Buck groused, but he rolled, just barely saving Chris from getting dumped onto the floor. 

Monday, May 28

Buck's run with Chris on Monday morning wasn't particularly relaxing, since Chris was moody and pushing himself and had dragged him up more than an hour earlier than usual. It wasn't quite dawn when they headed down the drive. But they hashed out their work week—he and Chris would probably have to take off for a day or so on Wednesday to pick up a guy they hoped was still in Athens. Vin had been up early, taken his own stroll around back pasture, and cooked breakfast for them by the time they got back.

Buck decided not to stick around their bathroom watching Chris bitch and called Charlene Cruz, planning to leave a message and surprised as hell when she answered her phone. 

"Little early to be in the office, isn't it?" he asked, concerned. 

"Things are heating up a little." 

Buck had intended to call on Vin's behalf and encourage her to call him in again, but somehow she roped Buck into coming in for additional questions. "I'll come by with Tanner, how's that? Two for the price of one?" 

"Fine," she said, surprising him. 

Chris had come out of the bathroom and leaned in the kitchen doorway, a towel slung low on his hips and a frown on his face. 

"Charlene Cruz," Buck said. "Vin and me'll go over there today, talk to her." Chris didn't answer, just herded him back to the bathroom for a perfunctory shower and a covert examination of the blotchy pink scar on his shoulder, and not much later they all drove into town well ahead of morning traffic. 

They stopped by a copy shop and spent too long duplicating most of Vin's pictures and some of his notes, and Chris skimmed it as he worked. Vin was going to be very popular with the feds. 

"Buck and I have some stuff to do," Chris said when they were finished. "Pack this all up and take it back to the office if you want; photocopying's cheaper there, and JD can get a start on dubbing the CDs for you." 

"You sure?" He looked doubtful, and for a second Chris didn't get why. 

"Yeah. Make sure to get receipts, we're passing the expenses on to either Orrin Travis or the US attorneys. Probably Orrin." 

"What the hell would he pick up this tab for?" Vin asked. 

Chris shrugged. "You have to know Orrin."

"Just how well do you know him, Chris?" Vin asked, more than a little edgy.

"Pretty well. He was a judge for a couple of decades, then took over his father's business. Grew it until it went national and still works at the corporate office every day."

"And… he's trustworthy?" 

"I've bet Buck's life on it before, and mine. Why?"

"Buck said he was friends with Kincaid, and James. Don't seem like he's any disinterested third party." 

"He's not. But he's got a code of ethics he lives by that's served Buck and me just fine so far." Chris thought again about the local phone number that had landed on Whitney's call history, but didn't mention it. He wouldn't let Buck talk about it so he sure as hell wasn't going to suggest it himself. The fact that they weren't telling Orrin about that phone number either was plenty of evidence that Chris wasn't as sure of Orrin as he'd just said, but he wasn't going to go there. Not yet. Maybe Ezra's paranoia, or Vin's worries, were rubbing off. 

Vin frowned. "Nothing. Just… I ought to drop by, see him later today."

Chris kept a tight rein on his curiosity, letting his concern show a little instead. "Call him on his cell phone," Chris said, and scribbled it down on a piece of paper. "Something's fishy somewhere, and we don't know that it's not his office."

"Or him?" Vin asked, frowning again.

"I've got no reason to think so, Vin," Chris assured him. He lifted a couple of the duplicate sets while Buck was flirting with a staffer young enough to be his daughter and tugged on the back of his shirt to get him moving. "Come on, Romeo," he said and steered Buck toward the door. 

As soon as they were outside, Buck did the steering. "What did you get?" he asked, staring at the envelopes like he had x-ray vision. 

"Mostly the stuff from that trip to Texas. I want to drop a copy by Orrin's office, see if he recognizes anybody in the pictures."

"Could help the prosecutors if he did," Buck agreed easily as he dragged out the car keys and pitched them Chris's way. "Drop me at the office." 

Chris did, and when he saw Orrin he told him to expect a call from Tanner. "I think…" Chris pursed his lips, measuring his opinion against the facts. "I think he needs somebody to tell."

"To tell what?" 

"Honestly, Orrin, I don't know. But he's still holding back. See if you can help him."

"Fine," Orrin agreed. "Is there some reason these pictures are only a half inch by a half inch?" he grumbled, digging into his vest pocket first for reading glasses, then grumbling into his intercom. "Somebody find me a magnifying glass."

Chris swallowed back his grin. "Vin'll get pictures of this later today. The place we went this morning just got digital copies. There's a lot of information," Chris said, trying to figure out how to say it. 

Orrin looked up when he stopped talking. "And?"

"He's been trailing Whitney off and on for years," Chris admitted, just laying it out. "He did a peripheral and pretty much illegal investigation of James at one point and found out some stuff the law somewhere should have case files on. Sounds like James slipped the noose more than a couple of times." 

"Stuart's family is Texas six generations back," Orrin said. "He could know enough people to stay out of jail."

Chris thought about everything they had thrown around the table at the house last night. "Vin's got some pretty wild theories." 

Travis looked up. "Like?"

Chris shook his head. "Drag 'em out of him this afternoon." 

He got back to the office just in time to take over from Vin at the photocopier, and sighed. They really needed an office manager. Secretarial support. Glancing around he thought tiredly, and a bigger office. He and Buck had talked about poaching Casey Wells a few months back, but admitted they didn't have the space to keep her. Besides, she wanted to climb the ladder same as JD did. He didn't know how long she'd be happy keeping his insane bunch of maniacs in order. 

Buck and Vin ducked out the door for the federal building, and Buck nodded back toward their desk, a sober look on his face. Chris wandered over as soon as the two left and saw the thick stack of pictures and excerpted notebook pages; Vin had taken a pretty broad sample of stuff to trade with, but it didn't really surprise him. He wondered what Buck had wanted him to see. 

W&L • W&L • W&L 

When Buck got to the federal building with Vin, Charlene Cruz surprised him again by letting him stay in the room during Vin's interview. Vin handed over duplicates of pictures they'd culled as directly related to the Stuart James, then gave his testimony. There wasn't much Buck didn't already know about the selected pieces of evidence Vin showed them. 

Charlene asked about various people in the photographs, and Vin answered as best he could. He didn't leave anything out, as far as Buck could tell. He said who he knew, who he didn't, and didn't try to steer the conversation much. He was fishing for a deal and they weren't doing more than nibbling at the bait he gave them, but he stayed calm enough. "You c'n see that Whitney's the one with the connection to James." 

"One of the connections perhaps," Palminteri said. 

"Shit." Vin shoved the photocopies across the desk. "If this and all the other evidence you're building ain't enough to let you see that Whitney's the hired gun and not me, I don't know what is. Y'all figure out if you can use me or not." 

"Your information could prove useful," Charlene said, pretty noncommittally in Buck's opinion. 

"And you've offered me nothin' so far," Vin said. "I sure haven't given you what I have just because I'm a nice guy. I need your help with this murder charge, and what the cops are calling assault, which it wasn't."

"Mr. Tanner, are you asking us to interfere in a murder case?" Palminteri asked him. His voice had gone still and quiet and Buck watched Vin stare at him hard. Charlene was doing her best to not look surprised. Palminteri seemed to be one of those guys who looked at all the angles before making his play, which meant neither Buck nor Vin would have a clue about which way he'd jump until long after they'd left this room.

"I'm asking you to solve the murder case. And I'm saying that if I go down for a murder I know I didn't commit, my faith in the United States justice system is probably going to take a nose-dive," he said. 

"You're asking for a lot," Charlene said. 

"I'm offering you a lot." 

Buck swallowed down a grin. 

"We don't have the authority to pull the state DA off a murder case," Palminteri said.

The guy was lying, and Buck figured Vin would know that. The jurisdictional power of the federal government was almost limitless once state lines had been crossed in the commission of a crime, and they had plenty of cause to exercise it now if they wanted. All they'd have to do was find a couple of judges, write up paperwork, and then pull all the fish out of the little pond and into theirs. 

Then Vin said, "Well I'd say your case has hit a snag, then." 

Palminteri kept fingering the edges of the papers. "Who else has seen these?" 

"Wilmington. Larabee. Couple of others from their offices and whoever they wanted to show." Buck reckoned that whoever had sent these to Vin from Wyoming could have seen them too, but he said nothing. It wasn't his place. 

"Where are the originals?" Palminteri asked. 

"Where's my deal?" he all but snapped. "You think I'm a total idiot?"

Buck did grin at that; Vin had been found unconscious next to a dead body, so their opinion was anybody's guess. 

"We'll have to review this material," Charlene said, "and anything else you'd care to share." 

Vin had cast more than one covert look Buck's way, but now Vin turned and held it. "Not at this particular moment," he said, and Buck sat up straighter. 

Charlene took the hint all right and smiled at Buck. "Buck? We won't be much longer. If you want to get a coke or something, the receptionist will give you directions."

"Sounds good," Buck smiled at her, brain boiling inside. What the hell would Vin give them that he didn't want Buck to know about? The smarter question was why? 

He hovered behind the woman who sat the security glass and opened doors, but it wasn't five minutes before Vin came out. 

"Sorry, Buck."

"What've you got to be sorry for, Vin?" Buck asked him, which looked like just the right question because Vin flushed a little and ducked his head. 

"Maybe after all this is over, I'll tell you about it," he finally said. 

"Fair enough. You gonna wait for me or do you want to go on over to the office?"

"Nah, I'll wait." Vin dropped into an empty desk chair as Charlene stuck her head out her office door and walked over to them. 

"Mr. Tanner, we'll be in touch," she said, the tone of her voice more compassionate than it had been inside and making Buck wonder if she was just more mellow away from Palminteri or if Vin had said something that had won her over. 

"You know where to find me." 

She shook his hand. "Thank you. Buck, if you're ready?" 

They'd been over most of this once and he had the feeling they were prepping him for a grand jury more than anything else. Buck shared his opinion of Vin's truthfulness, his story about Eli Joe. Most of it wasn't admissible in court—hearsay that he seriously doubted could get edged in as dying declaration even though they sure as hell thought they were done when the house had caught fire—but it seemed obvious that Charlene and Palminteri planned to pitch it to the grand jury. So he grinned and nodded and practiced being friendly. 

Charlene didn't look too hopeful. Palminteri still looked and acted like a slicked-down big city model, no reaction at all to any of Buck's answers, but Buck paid him no mind. They asked him again about the run-in with Vin's would-be killers, didn't ask about Vin's promise to turn himself in in exchange for Whitney's retrieval but Buck repeated that part too, and emphasized that Vin had saved his and Ezra's lives. 

"Your lives wouldn't have been in danger if it weren't for him," Palminteri said. 

Buck just shrugged. "Or whoever sent the hired guns," he said. "Vin Tanner's the first skip I ever ended up on the wrong side of four rifles with, and he came through for us. For what it's worth, everything he's done to date and everything we've learned has aligned just perfect with his account of the events. Including the new crime scene reports."

Palminteri looked blank. 

"The Roswell Police Department sent a second crime scene investigation team to Kincaid's house. They found a clear set of prints that match Whitney's and signs of tampering with the empty propane tank." Still blank. "Whitney's an arsonist." 

Charlene made a note on her legal pad and nodded. "They haven't forwarded that information to us. We'll follow up today." 

Palminteri changed the subject. "Mr. Tanner has offered us a great deal of information," he said and nodded toward the stacks they'd moved to a side table. Buck tried not to look obvious as he scanned it, looking for something that hadn't been there when he'd left this room. 

"Yeah." 

"You've seen it as well?"

"Yeah. It's good material. Well-documented, provides undeniable photographic evidence of the connection between Whitney and James spanning several years, and a boatload of data that a good criminal investigator would have a field day with: dates, descriptions, car license plates, even some VIN numbers. Tanner was thorough."

"And you don't think his very… thoroughness casts some suspicion on the information?" Palminteri asked. 

Buck shrugged. "You can dirty up the source all you want if the information's still accurate. And I believe it is." 

"He says he has additional data we might find useful as well," Charlene said, and then glanced up through her lashes in a way that looked so sexy, Buck had to smile. 

"I got the impression you might know a little more about that than me, what with sending me out of the room and all. What else did he tell you?" And Chris thought all his blood went to his cock when a pretty woman did that. 

"I…" she looked at Palminteri.

"Let me get to the point, Mr. Wilmington," Palminteri cut in. "Have you seen additional materials that could forward our case against James?" 

Damn it. He sat up a little straighter in his chair. "Let me think on that, I'll see what I can remember," he said, which was cop-speak for "I'm not answering your question at this time unless you drag it out of me." 

"All right," Palminteri effectively ended the meeting. "I think we have enough for now. You'll be in town?" 

"Probably." At his questioning look Buck just said, "I'm a bail enforcer, I go where the skips run." 

"Keep us informed of your whereabouts," Palminteri said in a tone that made it an order. 

He chuckled as he stood up. "Yeah, right." 

"Excuse me?" Palminteri frowned, standing up himself. Chris might've called it a glower, but then Chris wasn't as generous as he was. All it did for Buck was make him want to needle the guy some, maybe laugh in his face, but he resisted the impulse. He still had a few inches on the guy and figured just standing up straight was as much needling as the situation called for. 

"Am I suspected of anything?" he asked.

"No."

"Then—no offense—I'll just be going about my business. You've got my numbers; you're welcome to call if you need me. Anything else?" 

Palminteri squared his shoulders back, trying to look intimidating Buck supposed. This guy had nothing on plenty of Buck's old superior officers, and he sure as hell had nothing on Chris. He stared down at the guy and waited. 

Eventually Charlene stopped looking between the two of them and leaned forward, taking over. "Thank you, Buck. We'll be in touch." 

That was fine by him. 

They'd walked over to the federal building, and as soon as he and Vin stepped out into the sun he said, "So what else do you have to give 'em?" 

Vin glowered at him. "Quit pushin', Buck," he said. "You know what they say about curiosity and the cat." 

"I also know what they say about murder suspects holding back information from federal officials," Buck said, "and the end is pretty much the same as the cat's." 

Vin just glowered at him for two seconds before focusing back up on the wide blue sky. 

W&L • W&L • W&L 

Buck had missed a chunk of the day's work what with his time at the federal building, and more of it to sorting out more of Vin's notebooks and needlessly overseeing JD while JD burned copies of data onto CDs. Chris wondered if they ought to try and bill someone for their time, because it looked to only get worse from here. Buck had given him a rundown of events while Vin was out seeing Travis, and each of them had burned to launch an attack on Vin to find out what he was passing around to people besides them. They had argued whether it was better for Vin to lock the originals in the floor safe here or take them home, and Ezra had suggested that neither place was particularly secure. Vin had gotten that hunted look again, and Chris broke down and gave him directions to the local FotoMat nearby with an agreement to meet back up at the house later. 

It wasn't much later that Chris was ready to call it quits for the day. Ezra had already snuck out, supposedly to go and look for a skip but who knew if that was true? Chris's back ached from standing hunched over the copier for hours and Buck looked a little tense. Chris raised his brows in question but Buck just shook his head. 

"Feel like I'm lookin' for a needle in a haystack is all, but I'm not sure if it's even a needle I'm lookin' for," Buck admitted. "We've got too much information and no clear way through it. " 

"You ready to go home?" 

"Past it," Buck said. "Want to grab something to take home from the diner?"

"Vin's cooking. He should get there a little ahead of us, said he'd have dinner ready before we got through our second beers."

Buck let out a groan he usually reserved for the bedroom. "Sounds about perfect."

"Don't get spoiled, Big Dog," Chris warned with a grin. "When he leaves, you'll have to start cookin' again." 

"Maybe we can chain him to the stove."

They got serious in the car, tossing ideas back and forth. "Why the hell didn't Tanner take a picture of Whitney's car on the scene at Kincaid's house?" Chris asked, tapping his fingers on the wheel. "The one time the whole superspy thing might have helped him…" 

"The door was open, Chris," Buck said like Chris had expected an answer to the bitching. "Maybe he realized somebody was in danger." 

Any other time, that should have been funny. "Okay," Chris sighed. "What have we missed? What else can we find that ties Whitney to Kincaid? There's got to be something in that pile of crap he's collected that'll help him with the DA." 

"Feds are gonna pull it all away from 'em anyway," Buck mused. "If they're really gonna try to pin the murder on Whitney and James, they don't have much choice."

"They could try Whitney locally. Keep the Kincaid murder in state jurisdiction and just go federal for the RICO conspiracy."

"Might be worse for Vin if they do."

Chris shrugged. "The US attorneys will have to decide whether or not Vin's a credible informant. Frankly, I think he's looking pretty good." 

"I told you from the start that he looked good," Buck said, deliberately misunderstanding. 

Instead of whapping him on the back of the head, Chris eased his hand onto Buck's thigh. "Fine," he grumbled when Buck raised his eyebrows, "he looks good. You happy now?" 

"Not sure," Buck grinned. "I gonna have competition?" he laced their fingers together in his lap. 

Chris laughed out loud and rubbed his knuckles over the zipper of Buck's jeans. "I don't think so, pard." He eased his hand away, shifting the conversation back to Vin's case. "We know Whitney's been in Atlanta before," he said, "And Denver, Dallas, Birmingham, Oklahoma City, Miami…" 

"Real world traveler."

Chris nodded, eyes on the road, remembering and rejecting nine out of ten of the ideas the boys had come up with in the kitchen last night as bullshit. 

"Insurance scams? Like in Oklahoma?" Buck mused. "Seems stupid to use the same guy all the time." 

"Unless he's really good. If it's even insurance scams." It'd be impossible to track down James's other holdings and see if there was any pattern without a whole lot more manpower and resources than he and Buck had to hand. "Charlene Cruz talk to you?" 

"She didn't tell me a damned thing," Buck grumbled. 

Chris smiled a little. "Guess she likes me better'n you, stud." 

"She was with her boyfriend when I saw her," Buck said. "I try not to turn on the charm around husbands and boyfriends. Makes 'em feel inferior."

"Or homicidal," Chris grinned. Buck's laughter followed easy and welcome. 

"So how well did her story match Vin's?" Buck nudged him. 

"I don't know, she just mentioned it. It corroborates what Vin learned though. She said Kincaid told them he broke off his association with James after that." 

"She say anything about insurance scams?" 

"Nope." 

"Drugs, prostitution, human trafficking?"

His hands tightened on the wheel. "She didn't say anything but what I just told you." 

"Well, she knows more than we do now," Buck said. "Vin shooed me out of the room and I don't know what he told them then."

"They let you stay in the first place?" Chris asked, surprised. 

"Surprised me too," Buck admitted. He quieted down for all of three seconds, then, "We've got way too much but not nearly enough to go on." 

"Would've been nice if Vin had a money shot or two," Chris mused. Buck grunted in question. "Kilos of coke being tested, somebody actually setting a torch to something…." 

Buck sighed. "Would've been nice." 

"It doesn't matter," Chris said after a minute. "We're letting ourselves get sucked into the larger investigation when all that should matter to us is the Kincaid murder. Vin's notes should be easy for federal prosecutors to follow, and if the feds establish the criminal links between James and Whitney, then that new crime scene report'll provide plenty of reasonable doubt. All Vin should have to worry about—"

"Is grand theft auto and evading arrest," Buck cut in. "Two felonies." 

"Still. It's looking better. He could plea bargain down to misdemeanors if we can reach out to the cops, and if the guy got his car back in one piece."

Buck's hand wandered to Chris's leg, mirroring Chris's own touches from a minute ago. "You're not usually the optimistic one, Chris." 

Chris shrugged. "I'm not now either. Just…"

"You don't want to see Vin in jail again."

"Neither do you," he frowned. 

Buck chuckled. "No reason to get defensive, Chris. I like him too."

"Shut up." 

Surprisingly, Buck did. 

W&L • W&L • W&L 

Chris reflected that it was kind of nice to have somebody as neat as he was around. Now that Vin was pretty much healed up he had energy to burn, and it looked like he wasn't going to hit the bars with Buck just waiting to tease him about it. Chris figured he'd give Vin some cover later in the week, if he wanted it. For now he was happy to take advantage of their guest, Vin proving himself as handy with a bush hog as he was with a dust mop, and just as happy as Chris to see the house get a good scrubbing. Chris started to grin at the hunted look that would cross Buck's face when either one of them noticed a cobweb in a corner. 

"Missing your carefree single days, pard?" Chris asked late that evening, duster with extender pole in one hand.

"No," Buck sighed, "I'm missing the days I lived with a guy." 

Behind him in the hall, Vin started laughing and a thumping sound made Chris wonder if the man had actually fallen over. Chris just palmed his crotch in Buck's direction and went back to cobweb detail. The house had been locked up for weeks on end these past six months and it felt good to reclaim it, put his mark on it—or remove the marks of the squatters that had tried to take over while he and Buck were gone. Buck never had cared much for neatness beyond basic "clean", and there was only so much scrubbing he could watch Chris do before he felt guilty for not wanting to help. But Chris was the one who liked spit and polish on occasion, and now that Vin was healed up he was contributing more than his fair share. 

Buck waited until Chris walked by the couch to purposely tip his popcorn bag onto the floor in the living room and refuse to pick it up. 

Chris waited until Buck huffed and left the room to grab the dust buster and suck it all up. 

Tuesday, May 29

Early Tuesday morning, Chris sent Vin out with Josiah, glad he didn't have to go hunting himself since they had three different people to track down. Buck had harangued Vin for a copy of the reproduction costs and they'd been damned steep, so he figured Vin could use the extra money. W&L sure wasn't hurting for it. 

The day went pretty smoothly, considering that he, Buck, Ezra, and Vin got at least three calls each from the US Attorneys' office. Chris couldn't decide for sure whether they actually wanted responses to their various questions or if they were just checking up on W&L. The first annoyed him and the second did too. 

He took some time late in the morning to stop by Travis's office and put a duplicate set of all Vin's materials into Orrin's hands, figuring the further they spread it around the more secure it would be, then went back to the office and put himself to work. He didn't raise his head again until Vin got back to the office and Buck gave him the "lunch" sign. 

"Come on boys, Vin's treating us to lunch," Buck announced from the door, grinning when Vin frowned at him. When nobody moved immediately he made the rounds to each desk, ruffling paperwork, turning off their computer monitors, and generally being a pain in the ass. He stopped by his and Chris's desk. "Lunch. A man's gotta eat."

"Some more than others," Ezra grumbled, but he had already pulled off his headset and locked down his computer. 

"That's the spirit, Ez," Buck said, ignoring the jibe. 

Really, it didn't take much to hustle this gang toward a free meal, and a couple of minutes later JD had forwarded the phones to the service, Josiah had stuck a post-it on the door that said "Will Return by 2:15p.m." and Buck had hustled them all out the door. 

Conversation shifted from work to sports, betting, mocking of sports, women, and cars while they ate, Buck flirted with the waitress, and all in all it was pretty fun. 

An hour later they walked back together, everybody in a much better mood and half of them patting their bellies—Ezra in particular had taken advantage of Vin's offer. JD took a last drag off his cigarette and ground the butt out beside their office door, then pulled out his keys. When he put his hand on the door though, it swung freely on its hinges. 

"I locked this when we left," he said slowly, then pulled the door halfway open. "Shit! It's trashed! Somebody trashed the place!" 

Buck grabbed the back of JD's shirt when he would have dived in and tainted the scene, pulling him far enough back to let Chris shoulder forward. 

Chris nodded thanks and took hold of the door, peering between Nathan and Ezra who had stopped on the mat just inside the door. It looked like a thorough job. "Come on, get on out of here," Chris ordered them, glancing at the floor. The carpet wouldn't have picked up footprints so walking around might be safe enough, but there was no reason to risk destroying something a good crime scene investigation team might find. While he didn't want the cops to know what they'd been holding of Vin's, they'd have to risk letting the police do their jobs if they had a hope in hell of pinning it on the right—

Glass spray from the door caught him across his back and he spun barely in time to catch JD who was falling right into him with a shocked "oh" on his face. Chris saw the blood spatters then, and realized somebody had just been waiting to shoot at them. 

Continued in "What Counts As a Win"

Chapter End Notes [CCH]: I cannot express enough thanks particularly to Megan and Fara, who held my hand, kept saying "of course you can do it," and "this is really good," and all sorts of other cheerleading-type things, alongside their detailed editing feedback. Thanks as well to Mardi, who read it cover- to- cover just as I finished the first draft, forgiving me my errors and typos and offering invaluable feedback on some specifics I asked her about. And to BMP for taking the 

near-finished draft and showing me magical things about plot and structure.

[Index] [Previous] [Next] 

The Magnificent Seven and it characters @ MGM, the Trilogy Entertainment Group, the Mirisch Corporation and TNN, and was developed by John Watson and others.


	8. Skip Trace -What Counts As A Win: Chapter 8

SKIP TRACE: WHAT COUNTS AS A WIN  
By Charlotte C. Hill and Maygra 

Universe: Skip Trace 

Acknowledgements: Many thanks to Megan for morale and editorial support, as well as a few scenes .

Pairing/Characters: C/B, Vin, Ezra, cameos by the Nathan, Josiah & JD

Rating: NC17 (We mean, seriously...look who's writing this thing!)

Story Notes: With thanks to Megan and Maygra for getting this novel series started, and special thanks to Megan and Fara, BMP and Mardi for encouraging me to see it through. Their editing and moral support has been invaluable.

Author's Chapter Notes: Continues immediately after the novel, "Waiting Games"... 

Feedback: yes, please, any kind, on or off list to charlottechill@yahoo.com and maygra@gmail.com. 

Tuesday, May 29 (continued)  
"Motherfuck!" he cursed, then, "Everybody down!" 

JD fell on him when he dropped to the ground himself, and already the kid was whining high in his throat. Buck and Vin had hit the pavement and from his vantage point near the door Chris could see that the guys inside had dropped as well, protected now by the brick wall on either side of the entrance. He scanned the street for the shooters, found one hanging out the open rear doors of a panel van. Buck and Vin had ducked behind parked cars and Buck had pulled out his SIG and was returning fire. The van sped up with a screech of tires and its back doors slammed shut. 

"Chris!"

"I'm not hit, Buck," he yelled, ears still ringing from where his head had hit the brick wall on his way to the ground with JD. His back burned from what felt like dozens of cuts—the glass door, he realized. "JD's hit. Anybody else?" 

"God damn them!" Ezra cursed from his crouch in the doorway, which Chris under the circumstances, took as an "I'm okay." 

"Buck?" 

"Fine!"

"Nathan!"

"I'm good!" 

Chris looked to where Nathan, hip and shoulder pressed against the feeble protection of a parked car, hunched over JD with his pocketknife. The kid's tee shirt was already dark with blood and Nathan's blade glinted as he sliced the fabric open. 

Sane pedestrians scattered and screamed while others edged in for a closer look. Chris didn't know if any of them were injured, and right now he didn't care. He just searched, not exactly frantic, until his eyes landed on Buck and he could run a quick visual check: standing evenly on both feet, no gushing blood or widening purple stains on jeans or faded blue tee-shirt, both hands holding his weapon. Buck did a slow pivot, checking the street one last time, and he looked pissed. Whole, healthy, intact and really, really pissed. 

Vin had cuts marring his left arm and he held his side protectively, grimacing in pain. "What did you do?"

"Rolled over the curb," Vin said, waving off his concern. "Tell me you've got other clients lookin' to off you." His grim humor staunched Chris's anger as much as anything else might have. 

Ezra pulled himself to a sitting position and began to dust debris off his jacket until he cursed and held up his hand: glass shards had embedded themselves in his jacket, and now he'd transferred some to his bloody palm. "What the hell is it with people and my extremities?" he demanded, outraged enough that Chris would have laughed in any other circumstance. 

"Somebody call 911," he ordered.

"Already did," Buck said. It took more effort than it should have to ignore the strain in his partner's voice. Police sirens screamed nearby—they were close enough to government offices that he wasn't too surprised. He palmed his own weapon and waited. 

"Nate, is JD okay?" Buck asked. 

"I don't know," Nathan answered, effectively shutting down everybody's questions. "He's got—shit." He's got a bullet high in the chest, under his collarbone. "No blood in his mouth though, and the airway sounds clear."

"Ow…" JD had checked out when he hit the asphalt, but he was coming to. Chris almost wished he'd remain unconscious. "Oh—holy shit, that—what—ow!"

"You got shot," Buck said. "Fucking shot, eight blocks from a police station in the middle of the afternoon!" 

"Easy," Nathan said, loud enough for Chris to hear over the roaring in his ears. Buck must've heard too because as Chris watched he clamped his teeth shut, the big muscles of his jaw bulging with the effort. 

Buck crawled over to him. "What is going on, Chris?" 

Chris couldn't think far past the noise in his head and the sharp pain in his back. "What the hell do you think's going on? Where's Josiah?"

Josiah appeared in the office doorway then, tucking a handgun into the back of his jeans. "Just thought I'd grab my weapon," he said. 

"It's a crime scene," Chris yelled. "Don't take anything out."

But Josiah smiled a tight little smile and said, "It shouldn't have been in there in the first place. Don't worry about it, Chris." 

"God damn it!" Buck cursed, scaring the rubber-neckers who had just started to edge in. "They trashed our office, they fired on us in broad daylight! What the hell did they—"

"Vin's information," Chris said, glaring Tanner's way. "Isn't that obvious enough even for you, Buck?" 

Vin nodded. "And damn it, Chris, they probably got it."

"Hardly," Ezra said snidely. He'd dragged out a handkerchief and wrapped it around his bleeding hand before easing his jacket off. He stepped a couple of feet away and started shaking out the glass, incidentally in the direction of nearby gawkers. 

"Ezra—"

"The material you left in the office is in the safe," he continued. "Everything that was cluttering up my desk is in the fucking safe, all right? So unless they were able to blow the thing, the information is still there. My god, don't you people think before you dive headlong into other people's problems? They sent four hit men after him. Obviously they wanted him for a reason, and we just allowed him to parade it before who knows how many—" 

"Shut up, Ezra," Chris said, ignoring for the moment that somehow Ezra had learned the combination to the safe. He needed to think, but now wasn't exactly the time. Sirens wailed, loud and getting louder. He watched Buck try to get a look at JD and heard the "oof" when Nathan caught him with an elbow to the ribs. "Get back, Buck," Nathan ordered.

Buck backed off and eased the safety back on his gun, but he still didn't put it away. "We're sittin' ducks out here," he said. 

Chris knew what was going on and when Buck started thinking again, he would too. "Sirens aren't far off. Whoever shot at us is long gone." He needed to get the rest of Vin's evidence out of the house, everything they'd taken home.

He pictured a big laminated sign on his locked gate: "We've moved the evidence. You won't find anything here. Don't burn down the place down." He wondered if maybe he wasn't just a little bit insane, but after the last few weeks of running, fires, shootings, revelations, and more shootings, he figured he had a right to be. 

They'd have to hire private security, somebody to stay and watch the place because he was fed up with rebuilding his life. 

He slid his gun back into its holster, careful to keep himself facing Buck. He didn't have time to deal with Buck right now. When he looked up, Buck's eyes were waiting for him. 

"Chris, you hit?" Buck asked.

Chris looked down at the blood specks on his shoulder and shook his head. "It's JD's." The look that crossed Buck's face pissed him off but he understood it well enough. And he wasn't above using it. "Stay with him, Buck. Take care of everybody. We'll catch up with you at the hospital." 

"Where're you goin'?"

"House. I'll be back." 

"They've got to know where we live." 

"No shit. But we took stuff home. We need to see if they've gotten to it, clear it out if they haven't." 

Buck shared a look with him then reached out and slapped his arm to send him off. "Case file's in the office. Be careful. Be goddamned careful, Chris." 

A police car, lights on and sirens blaring, rounded the corner a few blocks down just as Buck's keys clattered to the ground by Chris's feet. He needed to clear out fast before the cops decided to question him for three hours. He looked for Vin, found him just a few feet away, close enough to hear everything but saying nothing at all. "You up for a drive?"

"Are you?" Vin countered, and Chris knew Vin had seen the blood that was by now sticking his tee shirt to his back.

"Yeah." Quieter, as he sidled closer to Vin so that Buck wouldn't hear, he said, "You mind takin' a look at me when we get clear of this?"

Vin frowned at him. "You sure you don't need looking at right now?" 

"Yeah. I'd tell you if I did. Hell," he half-laughed, though there was nothing funny about it, "I'd tell him."

The frown broke and Vin flashed a half-smile, just for a second. "Horse shit." 

A hand eased under his elbow and boosted him back to his feet, and Chris tossed him the keys as they jogged toward the alley. Still keeping an eye on the street, he kept the other eye on his partner and his back out of Buck's line of sight. 

"You drive." 

Chris had to sit sideways in the seat to keep his back from connecting to it. He'd dragged an old blanket out of the trunk to protect the leather after Vin had peeled his tee shirt up, hissed in a tight breath and then dropped it back into place. "Got some pretty bad cuts Chris, and your back looks like Swiss cheese but you ain't bleedin' too bad. You might want to let a doc look at it." 

"Later. Got to secure the information first."

He pulled out his cell phone and dialed his old precinct from memory. Buck was the front man in their partnership, but it wasn't like he'd forgotten everybody and after the way he'd left, he was pretty sure nobody had forgotten him. He found a guy he knew and asked for a favor, a call to the local jurisdiction and an internal request for police assistance. Buck would kill him if he went out to the house alone, and there was no reason to anyway, given the obvious risks. 

He kept quiet on the drive out and looked over his shoulder the whole way.

A police car waited at the gate, two confused-looking uniforms leaning against the hood. "Mr. Larabee?" one of them asked. 

He shook hands perfunctorily and nodded to the other. "We're caught up in a federal investigation," he explained shortly. "Somebody just opened fire on us at our office downtown. I've got information in my house and I'd like a little backup while I go get it. That all right with you?"

The one whose hand he shook lifted her eyebrow suspiciously, but she straightened up too. "Martha," she called across the hood, "trunk. Tac vests and shotguns. Call it in." 

He liked their professionalism. 

The police car followed them up the drive; Chris could see through the rear window, knew the passenger was on the radio reporting God knew what. But they were thorough and careful, checking out the driveway and the ground around the porch, asking Chris direct questions about unidentified tire tracks or anything out of place before nodding toward the front door. 

Chris shook his head. "We'll go in through the back." 

Vin drove the car around while the uniforms followed on foot, one with her handgun drawn and the other with a rifle tucked in the crook of her arm, and waited for him to get the doors unlocked. Vin warned him back at the deck and Chris let him, let him check the screen door carefully before easing it open, eyes everywhere. He sucked in a breath as Vin's hand touched the hardwood door and twisted the key in the lock, but nothing happened and the door swung in easily. 

"Vin, go to the closet in our bedroom. There's a 9 mil in a blue box on top of the rifle cases. Make it fast," he said, walking on toward the front of the house and the small office. 

The safe was under the rug at the end of the sofa. There was no reason anybody would know about it because they didn't use it much and had bought it second-hand; he grabbed out the cash and locked it back up tight. The security alarm started whining after the requisite thirty seconds when he didn't turn it off, but he ignored it; it would only buzz at the local precinct office and the alarm company, and the uniforms here could call it in as a false alarm. Maybe he was being paranoid, but the shut-off panel was better than a tripwire to know when your target had entered the house and it wouldn't be hard to run a wire to a brick of C-4. 

Vin passed him in the hallway, handing over the gun, a handful of ammunition boxes and the spare clips before heading on into his own room. When they met up in the kitchen, Vin was carrying his duffel and two pictures off the bookshelves in the living room: one was of his and Sarah's wedding picture, and the other was of him with Buck and her and Adam when Adam had been about two. 

"Might want to get some clothes together or something, anything you care about." Vin looked up. "Just in case." 

There was too much he cared about in this house, and too little, so he shook his head. "We'll be back." But he went to the living room anyway and grabbed two photo albums, one filled with pictures of Sarah, Adam, him, and Buck, and the other that was pretty much all Buck had to prove he and his mom had existed before he'd turned seventeen. After a second's hesitation he dug out the stupidly expensive, engraved watch he'd bought Buck when he'd realized he'd never buy something as traditional as a ring… and the ring that Buck, his grin telling Chris that he got the joke, had given him in return a few days later. Neither of them wore the jewelry much, either because it was too precious or because they were emotional cowards and too embarrassed by the sentiment, Chris didn't know and right now didn't much care. He just slid on both pieces, the ring a cold weight on his left hand and the watch heavy on his wrist, too loose and bumping against the one he was already wearing. 

He and Buck had a couple of changes of clothes in the bag that lived in the trunk of his car, everything they'd need to get by for a few days right down to running shoes, so he didn't bother packing anything more. Vin got back to the kitchen just after he did. "You get what we came for?" 

"I'll fetch it on our way out," Vin said, dropping a little pile of medical supplies onto the kitchen table. "I need to get that glass out of your back." 

"In a minute." The cops had come as far as the back porch, he could see them moving around through the window. He conferred with them while he loaded the car. "My alarm went off, you might want to call it in, get the alarm company to reset it from there. I'll need to hire somebody to help secure this place, maybe drive by regularly and keep an eye out. I'd take a recommendation if you've got one." He had people he could reach out to, but he'd prefer off-duty cops. Their brothers and sisters would look out for them and coincidentally, the farm. 

The woman whose name he hadn't bothered to learn dug into her pocket with her left hand and pulled out a business card. "Call me, I've got a couple of referrals." The fact that she didn't treat him like this was crazy made him wonder if she knew who he was, knew what he had been and what had happened to him once before. What he wasn't going to let happen to him again. 

"It looks secure enough," Chris admitted then, scanning the pasture for anything he could shoot at. The house was quiet, and he hadn't seen a single thing out of place. If it had been searched he couldn't tell it. "Thanks for your time." 

She looked to her partner and they nodded briefly to each other. "We'll wait for you at the gate by the highway. How long do you expect to be?" 

"Few more minutes, tops." Vin was right. His shirt clung and pulled when he moved, and his windbreaker would start seeping blood soon enough if he didn't take care of his back. 

"Mr. Larabee." She extended her hand again, the one not holding the shotgun. 

"All right Larabee, let's get you seen to." 

He looked determined and Chris didn't argue because his back hurt like hell. With Vin's help in the kitchen, he got his shirt off and glanced over his shoulder, a little shocked at just how much blood trickled out of too many tiny holes. Still, he wasn't dizzy and blood looked worse than it was most of the time. Carefully, feeling the pull on his skin and knowing there was glass still in there, he leaned over the kitchen table and propped on his elbows.

"Ought to wash it off." Vin looked back toward the hall. "Think you can stand a shower?" 

"Guess so." Vin followed him to the bedroom, peeling off to the john while Chris fished out a pair of Tevas because the last thing he wanted to do was grind the glass into his feet when it fell out of his back. Vin turned the shower on while Chris, cursing every time a movement drove the glass deeper or the wet tee-shirt caught and dragged at the shards. 

Vin stood and watched while Chris stepped into the shower. The first spray of the water on his back had him cursing, "Fuck, fuck!" 

Vin chuckled in sympathy. "That's gotta be hurtin' like hell. I got some leftover pills in my bag." 

Chris shook his head and gritted his teeth until it felt like his jaw would break. 

Even though the flow was warm and gentle, it hurt like a sonofabitch, so that he felt every tiny cut or tear that he hadn't noticed before. He stared down at the tiles as blood-tinged water and bits of glass landed, winking in the overhead light. He was sweating when Vin finally reached in to turn off the water. 

"Come on, Chris." 

He leaned over the vanity, grinding his teeth while Vin took tweezers to his back, working slowly and carefully, dropping bits and pieces into the sink as he went. Adrenaline waned and endorphins kicked in, making his back one big ache instead of infinite tiny burns. "How's it looking?" he grated out. 

"Not as bad as I thought." A hand smoothed carefully over his back, waiting for him to flinch or to catch a sharp edge. "Think I've got most all of it."

There was a moment toward the end, just a second when Chris remembered the last time they'd been this close. He looked up and watched Vin over his shoulder, bent over his bare back, brows drawn tight as he concentrated. The thought of himself bent over the vanity naked—well, he couldn't help it, he'd been with Buck too long. 

He chuckled.

Vin looked up. Chris grinned at his reflection in the mirror. Vin frowned, but then his eyes got big and he shook his head. "I can't take both of you actin' like that, Larabee," he warned. "So whatever you were gonna say... just..." Chris felt certain that the sharp poke of the tweezers wasn't intentional, "don't. Got it." Vin straightened up and patted him on the shoulder. "Get back in there one more time and we'll see what's left," he said, nodding toward the shower. 

Ten minutes later, sore and still bleeding out of some of the worst cuts with bandaids dotted over the rest, he stood by the car and rattled the keys. Vin had sprinted up to the barn and Chris watched him humping it back with the missing cardboard box under his arm. When Vin got close enough, he pitched the keys so Vin could catch them with his free hand. "You ready?" Chris asked. 

Vin nodded. "Where we goin'?" 

"Back to town. Stop at the gate and we'll let those cops go." 

After he offered his thanks again he locked the gate. It wouldn't keep out anybody who was determined, but it made him feel better to know the place was as buttoned up as he could make it. 

He called Buck to find out where they were, gave Vin directions to Grady Memorial. JD was in surgery when they got there; everyone else who needed treating had been, and now stood or sat or slumped in a waiting room. Buck stood as soon as Chris walked in, eyes searching and still dark with rage of his own but tender, too. Worried, Chris realized. 

"Chris," Buck said, low. "You all right?" 

It took him longer than it should to understand the question, because it was only in that moment that he realized he and Vin must've been gone a long while—half an hour or more each way and close to an hour at the house with the police escort. He'd been too focused on securing the information, on making sure no one else got hurt in the process. "For now. Yeah." 

"Police want to talk to you," Buck said, holding out a business card with a city police logo on the front. "They were pretty pissed that you left the scene."

"You smooth any ruffled feathers?"

"Of course," Buck said, affronted. "At least until you talk to them and ruffle 'em up again." 

He still had things to do. He'd seen the computer monitors through the office windows but he didn't know if the computers themselves were still there or if whoever had rolled the place had found a way into the safe. Probably not; they hadn't been gone that long. JD kept the daily backups at his apartment and Chris was certain the kid would have copies of all he'd scanned of Vin's records too. "I need JD's house keys," he said to Buck. 

"I'll go."

"No. You stay here in case he gets out of surgery. And keep an eye on Tanner." His hands were tucked deep into his jeans pockets so he tilted his shoulder, tapping his elbow to Buck's. "I'm all right. I'll be back."

"You'd better be," Buck huffed. "Take Ezra with you." Then he went back to the green vinyl sofa and stretched out, pretending he was relaxed even though tension showed in every stiff line of his body. He didn't look Chris's way again. 

"Ezra," Chris called. 

Ezra glanced lazily over his shoulder and deigned to push himself away from the wall. "Yes?" 

"I need you to get us a couple of cars, not stolen but not traceable, and secure. Solid steel or Kevlar-reinforced, bulletproof glass. Old police cars or vans," he said when Ezra drew breath to speak. "Rent us rooms in a cheap motel somewhere we can lie low until JD's out and we figure out what to do with him." 

"While I enjoy intrigue as much as the next man, do you mind telling me what the hell for?" Ezra asked, his tone annoyingly uninterested. 

Chris smiled. "I'm just sick of getting caught with my pants around my ankles." 

A sour look crossed Ezra's face. "Really, is that all you homosexuals can think about?"

"Knock it off," Chris ordered even though he knew Ezra was trying to break the tension as much as anything else. "And come with me. I need to pick up the office computer backups from JD's place, any copies of Vin's information he made." He glanced over at Buck and lowered his voice. "You should drive." 

"Oh, thank you." Ezra mock-saluted then strolled out of the waiting room with him, already on his cell phone. Oddly, he didn't ask when Chris turned sideways in the passenger seat to keep his weight off his back. Either Ezra had guessed or Ezra didn't care, either of which was fine by Chris. 

JD's little one-bedroom loft looked no more cluttered than it usually did whenever Buck dragged him over here; nobody had tossed it yet, anyway. Probably, no one would. Probably he was jumping at shadows, but he didn't give a shit. He grabbed the backups out of the kitchen cabinet where JD kept them while Ezra snooped around, opening and closing drawers. After some hesitation, Chris went to JD's bedroom and started packing a suitcase for him. 

"Is he going somewhere?" Ezra asked from the doorway. 

"Depends. Go see if he has a shaving kit or something. Grab whatever you think he'd need for a road trip and bring it in here."

"Now I'm a maid. How could I have fallen so low?" 

"Ezra," Chris said on a grin, "you fell up when you ran into us, and you know it."

"I'm still fetching and carrying," he pointed out, then went and did it, pulling out his cell phone as he moved. 

"We can pick up cars tomorrow," Ezra said on the drive back to the hospital. "I have no idea how well-armored they'll be. You or Buck should come along and check them out." 

"What about someplace to stay?"

"Well, I assumed you'd want to avoid flop houses where people pay by the hour—I certainly do—so I found an Embassy Suites and booked connecting rooms where possible. It's currently held under a false name, and it'll cost us to keep it that way. Incidentally, who are we hiding from?"

"How would I know?"

"No—I mean, authorities as well as criminals? Because that will be harder." 

He'd always known that having a cheat on his side could pay off. "We don't know yet. What about fake IDs?"

"They can be arranged tomorrow if you seriously believe we need them. Those won't be cheap."

"Well, we've got plenty of money right now. Speaking of which, turn left up here. I need to go to the bank." Ezra followed directions and pulled into the bank's metered lot off the street. "Stay in the car." 

He didn't get ten paces before Ezra's shadow crossed his own on the concrete. "I detest being treated like an eight-year-old," Ezra said. 

"Fine, but if they're following us and they plant a bomb in the chassis, it's your ass too."

The only betrayal of Ezra's surprise was a slight widening of his eyes. "I'd detest that more," he said, and smiled his shark's smile. He stopped and loitered at the door of the bank where he had a clear view of the car. 

Chris went to the assistant manager first and pushed his safe deposit box key across the desk. The photo albums and jewelry from home were all going to sit in the vault until he ended this one way or another. After, he found the merchant teller and wrote a counter check for five thousand dollars, waited while people approved it and counted out the hundreds. Five grand plus the couple thousand he'd grabbed from the house wouldn't keep seven men very long, but he didn't plan on hiding very long. Anything bigger and he figured someone would throw up a red flag, and he didn't want government agencies noticing any sooner than absolutely necessary, or worrying about flight risks. 

"Need help holding the getaway cash?" Ezra asked, sounding as benign as he ever did. 

Chris actually laughed, at Ezra's feigned innocence and the fact that Ezra knew exactly what he was doing and why. "I've got it, Ezra."

His phone rang as Ezra pulled out of the parking lot. "JD's in recovery, the surgeon says it was pretty clean. He should get his own room in a couple of hours." 

"That's good. When can we spring him?"

"The doctors want to keep him for observation for a couple of days." 

"Need to? Or want to?" he asked Buck. 

"I'll get Nathan to find out. See you when you get here." 

When Ezra pulled into the hospital lot, Nathan and Buck were waiting outside. Nathan stepped up as Chris climbed out of the car. "The docs are pretty determined that JD needs to stay here," Nathan said, "but Raine says as long as he's lucid and not in too much pain we can take him out as soon as the anesthetic wears off. She can come over later and take a look at him for us." 

Raine Jackson was a medical resident herself, and Chris trusted her opinion. "Okay. Where's Vin?"

Buck frowned, looking more than a little worried. "He was pacing in the hallway when I left. Not like you do, Chris, more like strolling along and chewing his knuckles. Hasn't said a word since he got here, but he's holding that box we still haven't seen the inside of like a newborn baby." 

"Nathan, pick up your wife," Chris ordered. "These assholes are getting sloppy now, and she has a right to know what's going on before you two make any decisions."

It looked like Nathan understood what Chris wasn't saying because his mouth dropped open and he scrabbled for his cell phone. Chris heard him say, "Honey, I need to pick you up right now," even as he strode toward the entrance. 

"We're going to need JD," Chris said. Buck surprised him by nodding agreement. "Ezra's found us a place to hole up for a couple of days while we decide what we're going to do." 

"Speaking of which, I should make those arrangements and get us settled in." He held out his hand like a valet waiting to be tipped. 

"Don't get greedy, Ezra," Chris warned as he peeled off several hundreds. "Now's not the time. We'll catch up with you." 

He watched Ezra leave and then followed Buck into the surgical waiting area, prepared to do his turn at waiting. He sat on the couch Buck had been on before and looked for a position that didn't require leaning back but wouldn't alert Buck—hell, maybe he should tell him now and get it over with. Give Buck time to get pissed off and distract them all from waiting for JD to wake up. 

He was saved by his cell phone. Quick Release's number flashed on the screen and he turned it toward Buck, waiting for recognition before he answered. "Larabee." 

"Did you plan to let me know my surety was fired on in broad daylight?"

"Yeah," he said, grinning a little. "Eventually."

"You're on thin ice, Chris," Orrin warned. "What happened to Tanner?"

"Nothing. And most of the rest of us are all right too, thanks for asking." That got a low laugh out of Buck, so Chris reckoned poking the bear in his cage was worth it. 

"Is Buck all right?"

"Not a scratch," Chris said, gratified to hear the concern in the old man's voice. It didn't do much to allay his concern over that unidentified cell phone, but it didn't hurt either. "JD took a bullet though. The shooters were firing wild out the back of a van."

"Well?" Orrin said testily, "what's his condition?" 

"He's in post-op, the surgeon says he should be fine." 

"Anyone else hurt?"

Chris threw a quick glance at Buck. He frowned and jerked his head toward the hall, but Buck frowned right back and planted his feet more firmly. "Nothing worth mentioning," he said. 

Even if he guessed, Orrin didn't push. "What are you planning?"

"I don't know yet," he said and it was the truth. "We had our phones forwarded to your service from lunch. They're still forwarded. Can you pull them and have some of your people cover for us for a day or two?"

"Of course. Did they get any of Vin's information?"

"I doubt it; Ezra had it locked up and they didn't have a lot of time even if they were watching the place. But if they took JD's computer they might have some of the scans he was making." 

"Damn," Orrin said. He sounded annoyed, not that he had any right to be. "Call me if you learn anything. I'll reach out to the police." 

"Do that. Let me know if you find anything." 

"And Chris? Don't make me hear things like this through the grapevine next time." He hung up on that, so Chris pocketed his phone and glared at Buck. "You think I'd hold out on you?" he groused. 

"Hell yes," Buck said. "You look like shit, by the way." 

Chris shook his head; if Buck only knew. 

Buck's phone rang a few minutes later and he opened it, said, "Just a second" before he said to Chris, "I'm hunting down a coke machine. You want anything?"

"No."

Buck nodded and headed for the door, walking fast as he put the phone back to his ear. "Orrin," he said.

"Is Chris with you?" 

"I just ditched him. Figured you didn't want to talk in public if you were calling me so quick. What's up?" 

"I need you to come by my office as soon as you can. Alone." 

He checked his pocket for his keys and decided to just steal Chris's car since he knew where it was parked. "Be there in a few." 

The drive was slow in late afternoon traffic and Chris called him before he'd gotten two miles. 

"Where the hell are you?"

"I'm holding out on you," he grinned. 

"Asshole. I found the coke machines," Chris said dryly. "What are you up to, Buck?"

"I don't know yet. I'll tell you when I do. Call me if JD wakes up before I get back."

"Keep your head down." 

Fortunately for them both, they gave each other room when either one of them needed it. "You bet. See you in a while." 

He parked up the street from Quick Release's bond offices and caution led him around the back of the building. He took an elevator up one floor and the fire stairs back down so he could get to Travis's office without using the company's lobby. Travis calling Chris so quick could have meant that he'd heard something from one of his staff but it could mean something else, and at this point Buck wasn't taking any chances. 

When he got to the back entrance to Travis's executive office he put his ear to the door but didn't hear anyone, so he eased the knob and let himself in. Orrin didn't even look up. 

"It took you long enough," he said. 

Buck didn't rise to the bait. "What am I doing here?"

Travis rose from his leather chair and strode around his huge desk to the smaller table in the corner. Buck saw the manila envelope lying on it, just beat up enough and just similar enough in color that he knew what they were before his hand even reached out. "Tanner's intel?"

Travis's hand landed hard atop his, holding it to the table. "He came to see me on Monday. Left these. Asked me not to open them until he was out of the woods or died as a result of his involvement here. Sit down, Buck." 

Buck frowned but he sat, pulling his hand out from under Orrin's when he did. Travis wasn't exactly the dramatic type. 

"I hope you'll understand why I chose to show you first." With that Travis opened the envelope himself and pulled out a picture, sliding it across smooth varnished wood. 

Buck felt the smile rise on his face before he'd fully processed what he was seeing: Sarah, standing in front of a supermarket talking to well-dressed man in a dark coat, holding Adam with one arm while her other hand rested on a shopping cart. She looked so happy… then he realized how old Adam looked and his own smile vanished. "Vin had this?"

"There are more." 

Buck touched Sarah's face on the photograph, then ran his finger over Adam's where he was tucked up against her side, his legs wrapped around her waist. "Adam—he looks as old as—shit. These couldn't have been more than a couple of months before they were killed."

"Weeks, if the dates in his notes are correct." 

"Vin had these?" he repeated. The manila envelope sat between them, fat and condemning. 

"I think he gave them to me so you two would have the information, if I deemed that you'd want it. I suppose he thought I'd know better than he did," his tone telling Buck he resented the responsibility. 

Buck looked up and caught the old man's eyes. "Chris is gonna go nuts." 

"Which is why I'm telling you instead of him. Should he see these?"

Buck's first thought was to say no, but he dragged the envelope across the table and dumped the rest of the contents out. There were only three more pictures of Sarah and Adam, all at that supermarket from the door to their car with the trunk open, with the man helping her load the groceries—Vin had annotated on the back of the photo with his stupid little code. Buck already knew the number for Whitney, so he knew the man with Sarah had been seen with him. That Vin had tailed him solely because of whatever association the guy had with Whitney. That Vin had made a connection by accident that Buck and Chris hadn't been able to make with months of effort and an entire police department to back them up. If it was an accident.

The other pictures were of the man and Whitney, some with other people, some in places downtown that he recognized. "Who's the man?" 

"He isn't identified in Tanner's notes. I hoped you'd know." 

Buck didn't. He looked up at Travis, a hard knot in his stomach. "I don't. But we need to find out." Buck slid the picture of Sarah back out of the pile and looked at the two notebooks but didn't open them. "See if you can identify him, Orrin. I'll keep this one," he said, picking up the picture of Sarah, "and decide what to do. Don't tell Chris unless you've talked to me first."

"Agreed. Buck, if Stuart James is involved in Sarah's murder…"

"Then this whole mess just got a lot more personal." 

He slipped out the same way he'd come in, checking for loitering strangers on his way to the car. He could barely pay attention to late afternoon traffic with that picture burning a hole in his back pocket. And behind his eyes. He hadn't thought of them like they were waiting for Chris at home in—years. He could hear Sarah's undignified snort and Adam's squealing laughter, could almost picture them sitting in the grass in the back yard, with the torn-up house and its skeletal expansion behind them. It tore at him, just like it had the last time he and Chris had gotten drunk together and looked at all the pictures what must be four years ago now. After they'd gotten together, but before Buck was sure it was going to stick, and he had his cell phone out to call his mom before he could stop himself. 

But he did stop himself. What the hell was he going to say? Mom, I saw a picture of Sarah and I'm feeling bad? She knew how he felt. Chris did too. 

And Chris was going to shit a brick when this came out, because Buck's feelings on the subject were nothing compared to Chris's. Chris was going to be hurting and upset and caught up in all those painful memories… Chris was gonna be furious. 

He turned on Courtland Street, deciding that Orrin Travis was a conniving sonofabitch for for dropping this in his lap—he was grateful, but he was pissed off too. He didn't want to have to be that guy, the one who stirred all this back up again and put one of those looks on Chris's face. He didn't want to hurt the man he loved and he didn't want to watch Chris close himself off, isolate himself in pain and whiskey and... "Fuck!" He slammed the heel of his palm against the steering wheel, wincing when the sharp pain shot up his wrist. He didn't need this, not when they were already up to their asses in intrigue. Maybe that was just the way Vin Tanner had felt, but Buck couldn't afford him the luxury of faith. Whatever game Tanner was playing, he'd made a critical error if he'd really thought Orrin wouldn't poke into that evidence and Tanner was either a damned fool, or a lot more cunning than Buck ever would have guessed. That thought made Buck's stomach churn, and he wished he had one of Chris's antacids. 

Maybe he should call his mom, talk about the weather and tease her about being too old for the wild sex he knew for a fact she and Frank got up to. Frank was the kind of guy Buck had liked immediately, friendly and good-looking and delighted with the pleasures of the world, and Buck's mama was no angel. She was a saint, but she was no angel…. 

He blew out a breath, calming a little, wondering at what a mama's boy he was that just thinking of her could settle him down. Good thing for Chris, he thought as he turned into the hospital parking lot. 

When he got back to the hospital waiting room Chris looked at him, but Buck shook his head. If Chris saw anything on his face, and Buck was betting he did, he was willing to give Buck his own time to come clean. "How's JD?" 

"They're moving him out of recovery now. Raine's with him."

"When can we see him?" Buck asked, glad to be able to focus on something besides his churning gut. 

"Not long now." 

"That's good. What's the plan?"

Chris looked annoyed. "Lie low and catch our breaths. Find out if JD's in any condition to work. Figure out what to do when we figure out who's leaking information."

"You think somebody is?"

"You think they aren't? It's quiet for two weeks, then Vin turns in hard corroborating evidence and somebody takes pot shots and tosses our office?" 

"Just wanted to be sure," Buck said. He had folded the picture carefully so as not to crease Sarah's image or Adam's—or the suspect's. "Where's Vin?" he asked, trying to keep the edge of anger out of his voice. 

Chris tilted his head back toward the hall. "He went to the cafeteria to scare up something for us. You hungry?"

"Yeah. I'll find him, help him carry it back. Unless you want to?" he offered, not wanting to raise Chris's hackles or his suspicions any more than they probably were. 

Chris snorted. "Hurry back."

His partner had settled down nicely now that everybody was together, and that was sure to change. Buck reached out and rubbed his knuckles against Chris's belly, earning himself a flinch and a smile. "I will." 

Once he was out of Chris's sight he hurried, wanting to catch Tanner alone. The guy had a lot to answer for. He was at the cashier with two loaded trays, so Buck slipped in beside him. "I've got one. Come here." He turned and dropped the tray on an empty table away from other people and pulled out a chair. "Have a seat," he ordered when Vin caught up. 

"Everybody's waiting," Tanner told him, looking nervous like he suspected something was up. Like he wanted to be anywhere else in the world. 

Buck knew the feeling, and he resisted the urge to get up and shove Tanner into a chair. He'd faced plenty of perps in his career, and he knew all the right steps. "It'll keep." He reached into his back pocket and pulled out the picture, smoothed it carefully against his knee before turning it around so Tanner could see it. "You want to tell me about this?"

Tanner grimaced. "Ahh, shit." 

It was harder than he'd expected it to be. Sarah and Adam weren't nameless victims and Tanner was somebody he'd trusted. "That all you've got to say?"

"I didn't want you finding out about that," Tanner admitted, and dropped into a chair.

"That's pretty obvious. Start talking. Start with why you held this information back," he said, feeling his temper flare and putting a tight rein on it. "You stayed in our home. You stayed in our home and you didn't think you ought to tell us this?" His voice was so low it didn't carry past the table but he knew Tanner was hearing every word. And his hands were shaking. He noticed it when Tanner pried the photograph out of his too-tight grip and stared down at it. 

"I thought… aww hell. I had no idea who she was until I saw those pictures in your house, Buck. I swear I didn't." He said it like he was desperate to be believed, but Buck had heard horseshit plenty in his life. 

"You tellin' us you didn't see coverage on CNN?" Buck asked, hearing the tightness in his own voice but he couldn't do anything to stop it. He was angry, and fuck all the right moves because this was his life, and he knew what this was going to do to Chris. 

"You've been to my house, Buck. You see a TV there? Until I saw her picture on your mantel, all I knew was what you told me on that mountain." He eyed the photograph, reached out a fingertip to hover just beside Sarah's face, and somehow Buck kept himself from slapping the man's hand away. "It's not like…" Vin looked up at him, eyes all vulnerable and upset and lost. "What're the odds, Buck? What the hell are the odds of them being the same woman?" 

"All the more reason to tell us," he snarled. "You had plenty of time to explain." He'd lived with them, nearly two weeks that he and Chris had bent over backwards to help him. "We were trying to help you clear your name, Vin. What were you trying to do?" 

Tanner scrubbed at his face and suddenly he looked as tired and pale as he had when they'd pulled him from the hospital in Lander. But when he locked eyes with Buck he didn't look guilty and he didn't look scared. "I knew you by then, all right? Was gettin' to know Chris. Y'all have done more for me than I can ever make up for, I didn't want either you hurt. Clearing my name's important to me, but not if it means dragging down good people, people who…. " His eyes shifted, betraying his nerves. "I gave Travis that picture, and a lot more, because I wanted somebody who'd know if you had the right to know, if something happened to me." 

Buck could picture something happening to Tanner right now. 

"But… hell. I thought, if I didn't drag all that back up for you, maybe I was doin' you a favor." 

It was the weakest kind of answer and Buck could tell Tanner knew it. He was careful when he stood not to shove the chair back, not to attract unwanted attention. But he still leaned his palms on the table and glared down at the man. "You thought that accepting our help and withholding information about my partner's dead wife and son from us was doing us a favor?" Buck asked him, voice cold. 

He frowned. "I thought I was doing you a favor, Buck," he said, wary. "I thought… shit, I don't know what I thought. When I saw those pictures in your living room…." 

"That's why you kept staring at Sarah's picture?" he asked, shock coursing through him. He felt around for his chair and dropped back into it. "You weren't pining; you recognized her. You recognized her because you saw her when you were tailing Eli Joe's pals." 

Tanner looked pained. "I didn't think it could really be the same woman." 

Buck could understand that. He was still having trouble believing it himself. "Anything else you haven't told us? And whatever you do, don't you lie to me. Not now. Not again."

"I didn't—shit," he said, and dropped his eyes. "I didn't lie, Buck. I didn't. Didn't know what to do when I saw those pictures at your house. At first I thought I must be wrong. I wasn't positive until I got my stuff from Lander."

"That might've been a godamned good time to tell us." 

Tanner scrubbed his hands over his face and through his hair, pushing it back. "What was I supposed to say, Buck?" he demanded. "What the hell could I have said? 'Hey, I think the guy I been following might've killed your partner's family'?" 

The anger inside Buck was getting chewed up by worry. What Vin was saying sounded reasonable enough, and more important it sounded honest. He had to wonder what he'd have done if things were the other way around: two strangers throwing in with him even when reason said they wouldn't and shouldn't. Finding out he had information directly related to them and the guy he was chasing… Buck didn't believe in coincidences, and this one would have had ghosts walking over his grave. It wasn't lost on him that Vin was thinking of his feelings, or trying to. Misguided yes, but still. It counted for something to Buck. 

He wondered what Orrin Travis had known before he'd called Chris that morning a few weeks back and sent them on this chase. Not that Orrin would tell him if he asked. Not that Orrin wasn't the slickest man Buck had ever met, a straight-shooter Buck had always thought, but one who was more than willing to make sure things suited his own ends and his own sense of justice. But this… if Orrin had held back something like this…. 

"Chris is gonna have a fit," Buck said, reaching out to nudge the picture around on the table. 

"What do you want me do?" Vin blew out a hard breath of air—and Buck was kind of glad he didn't want to beat the crap out of the guy anymore. His feelings had made him wary again, and he didn't want to feel that way toward Vin. 

"Tell him. Come clean." Buck sure as hell wasn't going to take the hit for this. 

Vin grimaced. "Now?" 

"No!" Not until they'd seen JD. He didn't want Chris blowing a gasket in thie kid's hospital room. "Better wait until we get settled somewhere. You have the originals of what you gave to Travis?"

"Most of them."

"They in that box you've been hugging?"

"Yeah. Josiah's watching it right now." 

Buck squeezed at his temples, at the beginnings of a headache he felt building. "Keep a hold on it. I'll tell you when." 

"I'm sorry you got dragged into this, Buck," Vin said, low. "Sorry you two ever came after me at all."

Right at the moment, so was Buck. He folded the picture back up and stuck it in his pocket, then stood and picked up one of the trays. "Let's go before Chris comes huntin'." 

Chris had checked his watch three times before Buck and Vin finally showed up with food, plates of sandwiches stacked on top of each other and cans of coke loading down the trays. "What took you so long?" he groused, reaching for a plastic glass with what looked like tea off Buck's tray. 

"Lot of mouths to feed," Buck said with a tight grin. 

Chris looked from Buck to Vin and saw the tension in each of them, but he didn't say anything. Buck would tell him when he was ready. "Sweet?" he asked, shaking the cup so the ice rattled. 

"Nah, not the tea," Buck flirted, obviously trying to distract him from whatever had gotten stirred up between Buck and Vin. Chris did a quick check but neither of them had fresh bruises that he could see. And Vin had held his own with respect to Buck being an insufferable jackass with all the passes and flirtations. As far as Chris was concerned, if Buck could distract himself from worrying about JD, he'd write Vin a thank-you note for putting up with it and call himself lucky. 

Buck set the tray down and grabbed a sandwich off the top, opening while he plopped onto the couch beside Chris. "Turkey. Want half?" 

Chris took the offered sandwich, stuffed a bite into his mouth and chewed methodically, watching Buck do the same. Watching Buck watch Vin, who mostly was keeping his head down where he stood by the door. The guy looked ready to take flight. "You want to quit that?" he said anyway, nudging Buck with his elbow. "Gonna scare him out of here. And if you don't, Ezra'll make too much noise when he catches you and I'm not in the mood to hear his shit."

"What—oh." Buck shook his head and glanced around the room. 

They'd all finished eating the food Vin passed around and were just dumping the trash when the doctor strode in. Tall, buxom, a little on the mature side, she would have been just Buck's type a few years ago. Chris stepped forward. 

"Doctor? I'm Chris Larabee." He extended his hand. 

"Dr. Mews," she said. "Your friend is stable, no significant damage considering. I understand the police have already been here?" she asked. Chris nodded, not looking forward to the interview he'd have to give them at some point. "We're required by law to file our own reports on shooting incidents," she said. "Mr. Dunne is in room," she checked her chart, "912 East." 

"Can we go see him now, doc?" Buck asked from right beside him.

"He'll still be feeling the effects of the anesthesia," she said in a warning tone, "and I fully expect the police to want to meet with him as well. My staff contacted them before we moved him." 

Buck stepped forward and held out a hand; Chris could see that bullshit smile in profile, and tightened his jaw against its effect on the woman. Stupid idiot. "Thanks, doctor. We'll go check on him, make sure he's presentable when they get here." 

She raised an eyebrow like she didn't believe a word he said, and Chris's estimation of her rose a notch. "All right." 

With that she turned and left. Buck said, "912 East, catch up to us, guys," loud enough for the others to hear, and hustled Chris toward the elevators so they slipped into one alone. "You might as well talk to the cops too, when they show," Buck breathed. "Get it over with."

Chris didn't like it, but he knew Buck was right. The longer he avoided them the harder it would be. "Anything I need to know? Ezra spin any bullshit?"

"I don't think so," Buck replied easily enough. "Didn't tell 'em anything they didn't need to know, either," he went on. "Just what we saw, where we were coming back from, who Vin is, and that we aren't sure what the bad guys got or what they were after." 

Sometimes Chris was a little awed at the bullshit Buck could spin. "Oh," he said, "so nothing." 

Buck shot him a grin. "Pretty much. We've already got too many leaks and too many people muddying the waters. I didn't want to be the one causing anymore." 

The elevator doors opened on the 9th floor and they got their bearings at the directory, then headed off. Raine was in the room with JD and she jumped a little when they opened the door. "Sorry, darlin'," Buck said, touching her arm as he passed. "JD?"

"Yeahm," JD mumbled from the bed. He didn't look good to Chris's eyes, his skin a pasty white and his eyes barely able to focus while an IV ran from the back of his hand. "Buck…."

"In the flesh, kid. How's your shoulder?"

"Dunno," he mumbled, "I can't really feel anything." 

"That'll change," Buck chuckled. 

Raine frowned at him. "Buck," she chided him, so Chris just stood back and waited for the others to arrive. JD was obviously still caught up in the anesthetic. He did as he was told, breathing deeply. "That's it," Raine said, "you just keep doing that and you'll shake it off in no time."

Ezra appeared in the doorway. "No time is exactly what we have," he said, jerking his head toward the hall. "Cops are on their way." 

"Pretend you're asleep, JD," Chris ordered him and stepped back toward the door. 

"Tha' won't… be hard." JD sighed and his eyes closed, and a second later two detectives in suits entered the room. 

If they were surprised by the entourage, they didn't show it. Buck and Ezra stepped in to handle them and herded them back into the hall as Vin, Josiah, and Nathan went in to watch over JD. Chris gave them a second before he followed. 

"This is Chris Larabee," Buck said, putting a hand on Chris's shoulder to push him forward. "He owns W&L with me. Y'all said you wanted to talk to him." 

"Mr. Larabee," one of them said, and Chris just settled his weight on his heels and answered in monosyllables. They seemed more interested in why he'd taken off than what he'd seen.

"I didn't know why they were there, but figured they could have visited our farm, too. So I went to check."

"'Our'?" One of the guys asked. 

"Buck's and mine." He stepped a little closer until his shoulder brushed Buck's. It had taken him a year or so to learn to be up front about himself and Buck but by now it was commonplace. The sudden distaste on the detective's face had less impact on him than Buck's sad little looks when he'd thought Chris was ashamed of what they had, which hadn't been the case at all. Chris couldn't care less about what the man in front of him thought, but the man beside him…. "You can call Roswell P.D. to confirm my whereabouts; they gave me an escort to the house." 

"Going kind of far out of their way for a washed-out cop," one of them—Hendricks, Chris thought—said. 

He took a half-step forward before Buck could get pushy and said, "I guess you'll have to ask them."

"I will." 

He gave Buck a "leave it alone" look and said to the cop, "We about finished here, fellas? I know you still want to talk to JD." Chris steered Hendricks away from Buck, not giving his partner a chance to mouth off at the guy; it didn't pay to punch a police officer, not even when he needed punching. 

He dropped the detectives' cards in a trashcan before they'd even entered JD's room, and Chris hoped the kid wasn't so woozy as to spill his guts. Josiah was in there, and Nate and Vin. They'd have warned him to keep quiet. He caught Buck's arm before Buck could head on into the room. "Crowded enough in there already," he muttered. "And you know I don't need you defending me."

"He called you a washed-out cop," Buck growled, eyes on the hospital room door. 

He was a washed-out cop, not that he cared. "Down, boy," he grated, but tempered it with a hand to Buck's waist and a gentle squeeze. Buck predictably looked surprised by the public display of affection, and then preened at him. Chris rolled his eyes. 

As soon as the detectives left, he and Buck went back in, saw that JD had gotten somebody to raise the head of his bed a little. Some of his color was already coming back. "Chris?" he asked. "We goin' somewhere?" 

"Yeah, kid. Somewhere we can settle in and relax, let you get better." Buck snorted behind him, but Chris didn't look around. It was close enough to the truth, for now, and all JD needed to know until his head was clear enough to focus. "Raine says you can come with us tonight, if you think you can make it."

"Sure, I…" he started to move, to get up off the bed, but Nathan pushed him back down. 

"No hurry, JD. We've got a little bit. You just keep breathing deep now."

JD settled back against the mattress. "Yeah… yeah." 

They waited around for a bit and Chris wondered at Vin, leaning right beside the door and looking guilty. Maybe Vin had something to feel guilty for, but after a minute Chris stepped up to him and said, low, "It's not your fault, Vin." 

Vin looked up at him, startled, and grimaced. "Chris," he muttered, "you have no idea." 

Chris didn't know what to make of that, so he squeezed Vin's arm in what he hoped was a reassuring way, and left him alone. 

W&L • W&L • W&L 

It was almost nine p.m. when Chris, Buck, and Nathan straggled with JD into the hotel Ezra had found. Chris helped Raine get JD settled on the couch in the sitting room with pillows and a shot in his hip from a vial she'd picked up somewhere. Ezra had arranged for connecting units, two two-bedroom suites each with sitting rooms and kitchenettes—it was enough for everybody if they doubled up. They made a half-assed effort to secure the place, with Nathan and Ezra following JD's muzzy orders about how to steal the feed from the hotel's security system. Three closed-circuit televisions with split-screens sat beside each other on the kitchen bar island, showing black-and-white images of the lobby, parking lot, and hallways. Next to them sat eight cell phone chargers while computers crowded the dining room table. Five plug strips threatened to overload the electric outlets and nobody cared. 

"Josiah, keep an eye on those monitors," Chris ordered, then stepped back to take stock. Ezra had commandeered an armchair as soon as they'd gotten in and pulled out one of his guns, checking the clip before settling it on his knee. Nathan sat beside his wife on the couch, with her between him and JD. Raine looked worn out, and he couldn't blame her. This wasn't anything she'd bargained for and he didn't even know what she knew, past the fact that her husband had been involved in a shooting incident this afternoon. And Buck and Vin were still standing, separated by several feet and covertly glowering at each other. 

"Somebody want to tell me what's going on now?" he asked, glaring at Buck. It had taken him a while to realize Buck wasn't ogling Vin but assessing him. Chris knew the look from their days on the force, and wondered just what Buck was going to have to answer for later. 

"Don't look at me, Chris," Buck said, raising his hands up. Whatever it was, Buck thought he was in trouble. 

"Vin?" Chris said. Vin looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here, and he glanced at Buck before speaking. Buck, Chris noted, had a hard look as he nodded his head to Vin, one hard, quick jerk that carried permission as well as threat. 

"Damn," Vin said, and took a step forward, then left, his shoulders hunched in. Chris realized it put Vin between himself and the box he hadn't let out of his sight since he'd retrieved it from the barn. Chris figured they could always just wrestle it away from him, but then they'd be on opposite sides and that wouldn't help Vin or them in the long run. 

"What?" Chris wasn't long on patience on the best of days, and sure as hell not now. 

"I got something to show you," Vin said, then stopped. Chris waited. "It's not something I knew about right off…." He trailed off again, looking away from all of them.

"How about you stop beating around the bush and spill it?" Buck ordered. 

"How about you suck my dick, Buck?" Vin snarled. 

"Easy now," Josiah said. "We're in close quarters and we don't know what's happening out in the world. The last thing we want is for tempers to flare." 

"No," Ezra said, "the last thing we want is for some innocent member of our party to get caught in the hailstorm of bullets that follow Vin around. Oh, sorry—some other innocent member. Mr. Tanner? Now, if you please."

Vin looked pained for a second, but he pressed his lips tight together and nodded resolutely. "I ain't so sure they were shooting at me this time." 

"You think this was a random drive-by?" Ezra asked, snide as ever. 

Vin cleared his throat, started and stopped a couple of times before saying, "I was at least ten feet away from Chris. JD was right behind him."

"They didn't have the best aim out the back of a moving vehicle," Nathan started, but Chris waved him quiet. He hadn't thought about it, but maybe there was a reason he'd gone into overdrive and started planning for a siege. 

Josiah said what maybe they were all thinking. "Son, we're all a little bit in the dark here. You want to enlighten us?"

Vin pulled out the box he'd been protecting but didn't open it, just stared down at it for a long second. "I had some information sent to me, Josiah. Y'all saw some of it on Sunday. But none of you have seen it all." He swallowed visibly, Adam's apple bobbing on his long throat. "I told you Whitney'd been to Atlanta before, right?" 

"Yes…" Chris's tension was winding tighter. The way Buck held himself so still and wouldn't look at him, the way Vin acted like he'd rather face a firing squad—whatever he was trying to avoid, it wasn't going to be good. And it wasn't about JD. Vin hadn't even looked JD's way since they'd started talking. 

"I've followed him here before. Took some pictures, looked for whatever I could find." He nodded to Buck. "Buck, you want to give me that picture?" 

Chris's eyes narrowed when Buck stiffened and pursed his lips, but he reached into his back pocket with a glare at Vin and tossed a folded up photo Vin's way. Vin took it and smoothed it flat on the table, taking care with it. Chris finally got tired of waiting and moved to stand at Vin's shoulder. 

And then the bottom dropped out of the world. 

The few weeks leading up to the end of his old life, he could remember with almost perfect clarity. This was the second-to-last time she'd gone to the supermarket. The weather had been great and she'd wanted to barbeque, bring Buck and a few of her own friends over to the house. The house had been in the middle of remodeling hell with half its walls gone and practically no kitchen, so she'd ordered him to barbeque. The refrigerator was out so they'd had to store everything in coolers. Adam had slept with them in the bed that night. 

Everything he'd lost flared up in his head and he had Vin shoved up against the wall so fast, he didn't remember moving at all. "Why do you have this?" he snarled into shocked blue eyes. 

"Chris!" Buck stood beside him, a hand locked around his wrist without trying to pull it away from Vin's shoulder. Just holding onto him. "Chris," Buck repeated, quieter now. "Come on now, ease back." 

Sanity trickled in. He didn't want sanity; he wanted answers. So he shook off Buck's hand and jerked away from Tanner, pivoting to take himself a few safe feet away. "You knew about this," he hissed to Buck. He'd never imagined that Buck would betray him like this, hold something like this back—

"Orrin knew," Buck said, looking torn apart, "so don't get like you get. He told me a few hours ago while we were at the hospital. First I heard about it, pard." His eyes pleaded, looking for something in Chris that Chris wasn't sure he had right now but he drew in a deep breath, held it. Nodded to Buck—the closest thing he could manage to an apology he wasn't sure was deserved just yet. 

"Knew what?" Ezra asked from across the room. Of all of them, only Ezra and JD were still sitting, JD because he probably couldn't stand and Ezra because he was an asshole. He'd actually sprawled back in the chair. 

"You," Chris said, stabbing a finger toward Tanner, "talk. Now." 

Carefully, eyes never leaving Chris, Vin Tanner eased away from the wall and back toward his precious box. Haltingly his story came out alongside more pictures and notes of Eli Joe Whitney's earlier visits to Atlanta. 

Chris thought he'd been pissed off before, but it had nothing on what he felt right now. They'd had Eli Joe in their hands, in their fucking office bathroom, and turned him in to the cops without getting any answers. Now he was locked up, safer from Chris than he was from his own criminal associates, and it ate at him like he couldn't imagine. They'd had a link, and they'd given it away. He wanted to kill Whitney. But right now he had to get a hold of himself and listen, because Tanner was still talking. He almost wished Tanner wasn't, so he'd have an excuse to beat it out of him, and damn the man for being so cooperative, laying out photographs and narrating the tale. 

The first pictures meant nothing to Chris. In others he recognized perps but he'd pretty much expected that; Chris had been a cop for a long time. None of the men in the pictures were the ones he and Buck had investigated so thoroughly, none of them were the men they'd narrowed their search to and been so damned sure must have had something to do with the bombing. None of them were known associates of Timothy Fox, the man Chris's testimony had sent to prison for 30 years and who Chris believed had cost Sarah and Adam their lives. 

Vin wound down after a bit and they ended where they'd started, with that crumpled picture of Sarah and Adam and a well-dressed stranger on a sunny southern afternoon. Chris could imagine it, Sarah coming out of the store, a friendly stranger coming up, telling her how beautiful Adam was, asking for directions or some other innocent shit. Ingratiating himself as he walked with Sarah to the car…

He wanted to put his fist thorough something, starting with Vin Tanner. Vin stood still as a statue, hands balled into fists but just hanging at his sides. Chris passed the photo to Buck with a shaking hand. 

"You recognize him, Chris?" Buck asked, and Chris wasn't imagining things; Buck was being careful with him, handling him. 

"No." Chris snatched Vin's notebooks out of the box, ignoring the jerky move Vin aborted before it started, and started pawing through them, looking for the right dates, the right weeks—and there was the overlap: Whitney-F-1-brunette, mid-to-late-30s, tall, well-dressed. F-1 and F-5, unidentified woman and child. If Vin's records weren't completely for shit, these pictures had been taken less than two weeks before Sarah was killed. 

His hands were shaking. When Buck pried the notebook out of his too-tight grip to read the same lines he just had, they had nothing to hold onto and the just trembled, fine tremors that he couldn't stand to look at. He balled them into fists. "You mind telling me why you saw fit to hold this information back, Tanner?" he growled. 

Tanner looked pained. Chris was sure he could improve on that look, and took a step forward, but Buck stepped in between them, blocking his view. "He and I already had a little talk about that, Chris." 

Looking at Buck right now was like looking at a stranger. That thought made him realize how far gone he was, and he wished he'd listened to Buck when Orrin had called them. Buck had been right about not taking this job but for all the wrong reasons, and Chris had just been wrong. 

Buck moved toward him, careful steps like he'd approach a pissed-off rattler and Chris couldn't blame him. He held still though, didn't twist away when Buck caught his wrist and rubbed a soothing thumb over his pulse, just being there. Maybe he didn't blow up at Buck because Raine looked drawn and as pale as a dark-skinned woman could, or because JD looked like death warmed over but still sat there, eyes alert through the pain in them. It didn't cost him much to let Buck do this, and maybe it would help Buck when Chris went off the deep end because he could feel it coming, rage running through him like a freight train from a past he thought he had finally put to rest. In his mind's eye he could see the burnt-out car surrounded by firefighters and other cops, still smoking, dirty water from the fire hoses still running off the chassis and making ashen rivers on the ground. He could feel the water soaking through the knees of his pants, getting into his shoes as he bawled into Buck's chest and Buck held him down, out of sight of the press, hidden behind an idling fire engine. 

"So let me get this straight," Josiah said, and Chris was glad somebody did. "Eli Joe Whitney killed Kincaid."

"Yeah," Vin said, his eyes wary and alert, not looking away from Chris like he knew just where the danger in this room lay. He was right. 

"And whoever that is in the photograph with Chris's deceased wife, he can be linked to Whitney?" 

"Yeah," Vin answered again. 

"And it stands to reason that the man with your wife was involved in her murder." 

"Yeah Josiah," Buck answered when Chris didn't. Couldn't. 

Josiah made a little baritone humming sound. "Small world."

Buck cursed, low and angry, beside him. "So at least a part of James's illegal dealings is drugs. It has to be if he and Fox are associated—that's what we put Fox away for." 

"You sure it was Fox?" Tanner asked, his voice still so careful Chris wanted to shake him. 

"Chris was the senior on a drug investigation we were on," Buck said, "and Chris was set to testify. Two weeks before he took the stand the family car blew, got Sarah and Chris's little boy. So yeah, we're pretty sure. Fox is in Scott State Prison now."

"I don't get it," JD said, and Chris had to wonder if the drugs weren't affecting JD's brain. "Even if there is a link, why'd they wait so long to come after Vin again? Or does that make Chris a target too now?" 

"It doesn't," Ezra said. 

"It could," Buck said. "If James is trying to cover his tracks and handle the weak links before the law does, the last thing he'll want on his tail is an angry ex-cop with a need for vengeance." 

"They've got most of it already," Vin hissed. "Had it for days." 

It was Buck who answered that one. "But without you to speak for it, Vin, corroborate what you saw, who, when… it's not worth as much. A good attorney could get it kicked just because you're under suspicion for the murder."

"A good attorney couldn't keep us off Stuart James though," Chris growled. 

"You know," Ezra said casually, "I've always wanted to visit the Virgin Islands. It's a wonderful vacation spot, I'm told." 

"Shut up, Ezra," Chris said, glaring at Vin. "Nobody's running." 

"Nobody's doing anything stupid either," Buck said. Chris didn't have to be the man he was to know that last was directed at him. He turned away from Buck's hand. "Chris…"

"You don't speak for me," he said. Couldn't help saying. 

"Damn it, Chris!" Buck grabbed him by the shirtfront and pushed him back against the wall, not hard—just trying to break through his killing fury, Chris knew. They'd each had to do the same for the other a few times over the years. But Buck didn't know his back was fucked up, and when the breath rushed out of him on a whimper of pain Buck let go like he'd been burned. "Chris?"

"It's his back," Vin said it fast. "He took some glass during the shooting."

"And you're just tellin' me now?" Buck growled into Chris's face. 

In other circumstances, Chris might have smiled at the way Buck got more mad instead of less. He'd seen Buck in various stages of anger and recognized this one easily enough because it pretty much matched his own. Helplessness and old rage had a way of screwing up both of them "Guess it slipped my mind." 

"Slipped your—you bastard!" Chris felt his eyebrows go up in surprise, but Buck wasn't looking at him anymore. Buck spun around and jabbed a finger in Vin's direction. "You knew about this," he said, sweeping his arm wide to take in the box and the pictures spread out on the table. "You knew about this and you didn't tell us. You knew he was hurt and you didn't tell me—" 

"You know what?" Vin said, his weight shifting to the balls of his feet, "I'm gettin' about as tired as Ezra is of the little show you two put on. Your boyfriend was the one keeping the secret this time, I guess because he figured you'd act like a goddamned bitch queen if you found out. And he was right. You're both—"

Chris wasn't sure how it happened but he knew he had his reasons. He'd gotten close enough and thrown a roundhouse to Tanner's jaw that spun him back against the wall before Vin had finished speaking, followed up with a punch to the gut and was already pulling back for another when he caught the look in the man's eyes: defeat. He hadn't even raised his arms to defend himself. 

"Well Mr. Tanner," Ezra said, still sprawled in the chair, "it looks like you pegged the wrong bitch queen." 

Damn Ezra Standish. And damn Vin Tanner, half-doubled over and looking up at him with those guilty eyes. It would have been easier to beat the shit out of the man if it wasn't so obvious Tanner thought he deserved it. If it wasn't so obvious he felt responsible, and was responsible, for everything that had happened these past few weeks. Ezra's feet, Buck's bullet wound, JD's shoulder, Kincaid's death. Whatever else was waiting for them outside these rooms. Sarah and Adam— He drew back and slammed his fist into the plaster wall beside Vin's head.

The air in the room seemed to still, broken only by Raine's sharp gasp, then pain shot up from his knuckles, the flare of split skin and bruising flesh. 

"Ezra," Buck ordered, "take Josiah and go fetch us some supplies. Groceries, computers, whatever you think we need. Take the company card and buy it somewhere far away from here." 

Buck must really be pissed off to hand over the company credit card to Ezra. "Vin, Raine, Nathan, keep an eye on JD and make sure Vin doesn't leave this room."

Nathan nodded, his hand on his wife's arm. "And what are you going to do?" 

"Chris and me need to talk." 

He let Buck hustle him into one of the bedrooms and stood still while Buck peeled off his shirt then whistled, low. "I wondered why you really ran off so quick," Buck said gruffly. "Never thought it was because you're a moron." 

"Thought you always thought I was a—"

"Shut up," Buck groused. Then, "Shit, that's bad." 

He hadn't seen it himself, but still. "Not that bad. I'm still walking…"

"Keep it up and you won't be," Buck said. Gentle fingers traced the cuts and bruises, peeled back the band-aids to see what lay underneath, and Chris stood still for it because Buck had suffered his own nurse-maiding lately and he knew Buck needed to see for himself to confirm that Chris was still in one piece. But it was hard. He seethed inside, old images strobing behind his eyes. 

"You should let a doctor look at this."

"Tanner saw to it. I washed most of the glass out, he got the rest. It's okay Buck, just as long as you stop pushing me around."

"Promise me you won't go off half-cocked and I'll see what I can do," Buck said gruffly. But along with the words Buck turned him around and wrapped careful arms around him, not putting pressure on his cuts but holding him close nonetheless. 

"No promises," he said, because he wouldn't lie—not like this, not about this. 

"Chris—"

"No promises, Buck," he said again, and felt it when Buck gave in, felt the heavy sigh blow across his temple. 

"We don't even know who that man is," Buck argued. 

"We're gonna find out." 

Buck pulled away and grabbed his arm, holding his hand up to the light. "You sure put that wall in its place," he said, wry. 

"It deserved it." 

Buck huffed out a laugh against his will, then sobered just as quick and dropped Chris's hand. "What do you think you're gonna do when you identify him, huh?" 

"Whatever I have to." He stepped around Buck and headed for the bathroom, but Buck dogged him even there, sidling up behind him while he pissed and laying gentle hands on his hips. 

"You get another weird kink and it's over," Chris growled as he aimed at the bowl. 

Buck huffed a chuckle against the back of his neck. "You're my weird kink, so don't worry about it." 

The acrid smell of urine hit his nose, stronger when Buck took his place and went too, and Chris reached over to flush the toilet before pushing the seat down. "How's your arm?" he asked, looking for something—anything—to focus on besides the faces in that photograph or the look on Vin's face when he'd started swinging. He knew that look. He knew that kind of guilt, was feeling it right now, all over again. 

"Want to look at it?" Buck said, a broad smile on his face that couldn't quite be called a leer. 

"Grow up." It was easy enough to push Buck down onto the toilet seat and pull his shirt over his head, and Buck sat docilely while Chris poked and prodded at the sensitive new scar. Buck's bullet crease really was almost healed, but the last twelve hours had sent Chris's brain to all those places where everything he touched went to hell. He ran a gentle fingertip around puffy pink skin and dug for the antiseptic cream. He could see where the torn skin was mending, the seam that had looked so ragged and disconnected two weeks ago meshing smoothly together now. "It still hurting?" he asked. 

"You know it isn't." 

Buck sat still and kept quiet while Chris tended him, using his pinkie finger to spread ointment along the rough pink line of the wound, putting a big bandaid over it even though it didn't need one anymore. He'd barely finished when Buck rose to his full height and hemmed him in against the vanity. "Now that you've taken care of me, how about you take care of me?" 

"Get off me," Chris growled, and pushed at Buck's hips when Buck didn't step back right away. 

"Rather you get me off. Could be our last chance—for a while." 

Every kind thought he'd had two minutes ago vanished and he wanted to lash out at something. It was too bad for both of them that Buck stood right in front of him, but he reined it in as best he could, near desperate to bleed off some of this turmoil inside him. 

Buck curled around him a little and used his chin to bump Chris's head to the side. The mustache tickled his neck and then his ear, and Buck's breath came almost as soft as his voice: "Neither one of us knows what's gonna happen tomorrow. That's the best reason I know of to love you tonight." 

"You know what a girl you are?" he groused as he pushed harder, forcing Buck to stumble back a step. 

"Yeah," Buck said, soft and agreeable. He'd never shied away from his romantic side and never minded using sex to avoid problems. He was also one of the very few men Chris knew who thought being called womanly was a compliment. "Come on, Chris. Let me love you." 

"Quit talking to me in Air Supply lyrics and get the hell out of my way." Chris edged past him and headed for the little kitchenette, as hard now as he'd been gentle a minute ago and pissed at Buck for trying to turn Chris tending him into a fuck session. 

Buck stopped at the bar island and watched Chris pouring a drink, looking for signs he remembered and seeing too many of them. Chris like this was a holy terror, and while Buck felt pretty confident that Chris was controlling his drinking well, the bottle Chris had claimed had a couple of inches missing. 

"Into the bedroom," Chris grunted when Buck made to grab a quick drink himself. 

"Huh?" 

"You followed me over here to get laid, didn't you?" Chris said. 

As a matter of fact Buck hadn't and Chris knew it, and he liked Chris's mood now less than he had all day. "And you brushed me off."

"I changed my mind."

"Huh?"

"You can't understand simple sentences?"

"Why?" Buck dug his heels in, already suspecting the answer and not sure it was such a good idea, but Chris reached out, a hand curling up against his chest and resting over his heart, and Chris wouldn't meet his eyes. 

"I need…" the words faded softer than a sigh, and Buck watched Chris's hand on his chest, watched it clench into a white, bloodless fist, the splits in the skin showing so red and raw. 

Buck covered it with his own, traced the tight tendons and worried again that Chris was unraveling, but he'd never said no to that voice, that tone. He wouldn't start now. 

Five minutes later he almost wished he had. Bare-assed, shirt rumpled halfway up his back, Chris's fingers digging bruises into his hipbone, he fisted the bedspread in his hands and cursed under his breath. He'd have rug burns on his knees tomorrow and probably worse, the way Chris was trying to pound him. No finesse—hell, barely any lube, this had to be hurting Chris too. 

It wasn't lost on Buck that Chris's pain was the point. 

A few seconds later the mad humping slowed, then stopped altogether, like Chris just couldn't get himself there. He rested against Buck, whipcord tension still winding through him and holding his muscles tight while Buck held his weight. When fingers pried themselves off him and a hand eased toward his groin, Buck wasn't quick enough to stop it. 

"Buck?"

"What." 

Chris gently squeezed his limp cock, and damned if that didn't piss Buck off. "Just get on with it, Chris." 

A sweat-drenched forehead rubbed back and forth across his shoulder, Chris's too-long hair hanging down and tickling the skin. "I don't—I'm not—shit." But he didn't pull away and Buck couldn't help but notice his erection wasn't disappearing. Hot breath chilled the damp spot. 

"Get on with it or get off me," Buck said through gritted teeth. It wasn't like he was injured, but his ass hurt and he was more pissed at Chris than he wanted to say. 

Chris pulled out, slowly, and when Buck rolled over Chris dived down on his soft cock like a fucking vampire. "Chris—" he held carefully still, worried a little about teeth and Chris getting careless and getting hard in spite of himself because it wasn't like they'd never figured out how good a hard and fast fuck could be. Chris swallowed him down and tugged on his balls and ran fast fingertips up and down the insides of his thighs until he was near to shaking, and Buck did have to admit that by the time Chris pulled off him he'd forgotten what the problem was. 

"Here," Chris said and handed over the lube. "I want you to pound me." 

The idea held some appeal. A lot of appeal, just like the violent heat in Chris's eyes and the way his lips were puffy and wet from sucking Buck's cock and how his chest worked like a bellows.

He pushed Chris belly-down on the bed and crawled on top of him, careful not to rest his weight on Chris's sliced-up back and lubing him up fast because Chris just shoved his ass back for it. He pushed Chris's knees wider and used his thumbs to part Chris's cheeks, pushed in easy at first until Chris cussed at him, then harder, hotter, moving with Chris like they were both part of one grinding machine. Chris pulled his own cock and Buck watched his arm move doing it, matched Chris's furious pace and grunted every time his pelvis hit Chris's ass with a meaty slapping sound that just ratcheted all the intensity up higher. 

Chris came all over himself and Buck came inside him and then they were lying beside each other, arms up over their eyes and panting like racehorses. Chris rolled off the bed and Buck heard water running in the bathroom sink before he remembered that he didn't like to participate in Chris's self-flagellation. 

He really needed to get a grip on his libido. "Fuck!" he slammed a fist into the mattress and glared at the ceiling as rampant pleasure faded, leaving a chill and irritation behind. 

"Should I have stopped?" Chris asked him from the doorway, wet fingers dripping water onto the floor. 

Buck stared at Chris's silhouette, pretty much all he could see and pretty certain Chris knew that, not sure which of them he was more pissed at. "What do you want me to say, Chris?" 

"That you aren't gonna die. That I won't have to go through losing everything that means anything to me again," Chris said, and flicked off the bathroom light. 

"Shit." Buck didn't bother to reach out because he knew there'd be no comforting Chris right now. Sometimes—not often, but sometimes—it exhausted Buck just to be around him.

Chris lay there with the overhead light shining in his eyes until he heard Buck's breath even out into the rhythms of sleep. It didn't matter what the situation was, a good orgasm could put the man out like a light. He eased up off the bed and dragged back on his jeans and shirt, and walked barefoot back into the connecting room. 

Ezra and Josiah were gone. JD was asleep on the couch, his head crooked at an uncomfortable angle. Raine had moved to the little table at one end of the room while Nathan sat beside her, talking with her in a low voice and holding her hands. Tanner stood pretty much right where Chris had left him. 

"Raine," he said quietly, "I'm sorry you had to see that."

"I'm sorry you did it," she said abruptly. "Come here." Frowning, he walked over. "Give me your hand."

"My—oh." He held out his hand for her, letting her manipulate each finger. 

"Nothing's broken. Nathan, fetch us some ice, all right?" 

"Sure honey." Nathan grabbed up the ice bucket and a little plastic bag underneath it, took a quick check of the surveillance monitors, and let himself out the door. 

"Now," she said, quiet enough that Chris figured not even Vin could hear. If he was listening. He looked a little catatonic. "Are you going to get my husband killed?" 

"Not if I can help it." 

"Are you going to act like an ass to your partner and your friends again?"

He grimaced, considered telling her the truth, then breathed out, "No." 

She grinned. "Liar. Just…" she glanced in Tanner's direction. "Look, I won't pretend to know what's going on here," she whispered, "but Nathan said you all believed that man was trustworthy."

"We could have been wrong." 

"You could have been right. Please, figure that out before you do something crazy." Her hand went to her belly, rubbing over the huge mound of it. "I don't want my child to grow up without a father." 

It took an effort to choke back all the things he wanted to say, all the wrong-headed, inappropriate things that had nothing to do with this intelligent, very pregnant woman. "We'll take good care of him, Raine." 

"Take good care of Buck, too. And…" again she looked Tanner's way, "if you decide you weren't wrong, please don't do that to him again. Or anyone else." 

He nodded, feeling properly chastised. "How's JD?" he asked, needing to change the subject. 

She raised an eyebrow, not fooled for an instant. "Asleep." Then her voice softened even as she spoke a little louder, effectively ending their whispered conversation, "He's going to be fine. Nathan and I have been talking, and I'm thinking of going to see my parents." 

"I think that's a good idea." Motion on the monitors caught his eye, but it was just Nathan coming back. 

She frowned. "Central Florida in this time of year? Not really." 

That brought a smile to Chris, maybe the first one since the shooting today. Was it still that day? Damn. Now that JD was out and they were all underground, he thought maybe they should have left him in overnight, let him get better care and better meds than Raine could provide. Then again, she could provide some pretty good stuff. 

"When do you think you'll leave?" he asked as Nathan came back in. 

She looked to JD sleeping on the couch. "Not immediately. He needs close supervision and pain management for at least a day, then we'll see." 

He knelt down in front of her and squeezed her hand gently. "Thanks, Raine." 

"Don't thank me yet," she said archly, and took the baggie filled with ice and dropped it unceremoniously atop his hand. 

There was no help for it; somebody had to wake Vin up. "Hey," he said low, walking over to where he stood with the ice still balanced on the back of his hand. "You all right?"

Vin blinked, and glared at him. "Oh yeah, just great." 

Vin was pissed. Not that he had a right to be. "Yeah. Listen, you cost yourself, holding that information back." 

"I don't care about that," Vin said, waving a hand. He followed the arc of it, then sighed and tugged his hair back off his face. "I don't, Chris," he said intently. 

Maybe not pissed. Maybe he really felt as messed up as he looked. "Then what do you care about?" he asked. 

"I care what it's gonna cost, but the other, that was mine to bear." 

Chris was getting a little sick of being surprised, and a little annoyed that Vin thought he could claim any of that as his own. "She was my wife. Adam was my son. You don't get any of that, Vin." 

Vin looked at him like he understood—hell, maybe he did, because possessiveness over grief or revenge was crazy. Buck had told him so plenty of times over the years. "There anything else you want to tell me?" 

Vin worked his jaw back and forth like he was only just feeling it, then slid down the wall until he landed on his ass, knees up protectively in front of him. "You pack one hell of a punch."

"So I've been told." 

"Yeah well," Vin said in a warning tone, "so do I. You'd best remember that. I won't just take it next time."

Chris balanced on his heels and reached out, aborting the move in mid-air just about the time Vin caught the movement and tensed. What was he going to do, pat his knee? Reassure him? Vin was the cause this time but he wasn't the target, and Chris was slowly coming to terms with that. "There won't be a next time, not unless you're still holding out on me." 

Vin dropped his head, and his hair fanned out when he shook it. "Nah," he muttered. "That was pretty much it." 

The ice was getting damned cold, but he didn't remove it. He'd have to thank Buck later, for plowing him like that. His anger was still there, but fuzzy around the edges, muted by his partner's worry and a good, hard orgasm. 

"This wasn't supposed to be your fight, Chris," Vin said tiredly. "It wasn't." 

"It is now. If it's got something to do with my wife's death—yeah, Vin," he said slowly, "it's mine now. Here," he said, holding out the ice pack when his hand couldn't stand it anymore. "Put that on your face." He shot Vin a sly grin. "Buck said you were just getting pretty again." 

Vin snorted. 

Wednesday, May 30

Buck woke way too early; the windows in this bedroom faced south, so there would have been sunlight if it were anything like a reasonable hour. Chris snuffled into the pillow right next to his ear, pressed up against his side, and a piece of him wanted to roll over and curl around Chris and just forget everything for a while. But it was anybody's guess what mood he'd wake in, and if it was the wrong one their day probably wouldn't get any better. He eased out from under the arm Chris had dropped over his chest and dragged on a pair of shorts, almost tripping over his running shoes in the dark. 

When he slipped into the other suite where all the food and coffee was, the sound of a gun cocking almost gave him a heart attack. 

"You might try knocking next time," Ezra said, and pulled the compact HK out of his face. 

"Who else was gonna come out of the connecting room?" Buck demanded, rubbing at his chest. 

Ezra glared back over his shoulder. "Who the hell knows, these days?" 

"You ain't a little jumpy now, are you?" he asked. 

"You are too or you wouldn't be awake at this ungodly hour."

Buck didn't argue. "You got coffee on?"

"In the kitchen. It's terrible."

Buck groaned and scrubbed at his face. "Tell me there's a coffee shop around here somewhere."

"As a matter of fact…" Ezra started. 

"You wanna go for a jog? I'm gonna go stir crazy if I sit and stare at these walls all day." 

"Let me wake Nathan," Ezra said after a second's hesitation.

Buck waited until Nathan stumbled in from one of the other bedrooms and shared a quiet good morning, reminding him to keep an eye on the surveillance and on Tanner, who was apparently still in the bedroom he was sharing with Josiah. Then he and Ezra checked the monitors before leaving the suite and started off slow, both of them taking careful stock of the neighborhood as they warmed up. Buck wasn't much worried; they'd watched for tails on the way here and nobody'd had time to find them yet. He nodded good morning to the bums they passed and wondered if anybody but him could identify the holster that bulged underneath the back of Ezra's tee shirt. After a few blocks they picked up the pace. 

For all of Ezra Standish's bitching and lazy ways, Buck had always known the man stayed fit. He'd seen it in Ezra's body when they shared motels on the road, seen it even more when they had to chase somebody down or grapple them to the ground. But he hadn't expected Ezra to be able to outpace him. They'd passed by the first and second Starbucks because neither store was open yet, and by the time they'd reached the third Buck was huffing like an old steam engine. 

"I thought you jogged regularly," Ezra said, his breathing heavy but even as he held open the door. 

Buck's ego urged him to trot out the 'I got shot' defense, but he knew it wouldn't hold water anymore. "I do. I just don't practice running for my life."

Ezra pulled out the company credit card he'd never returned to Chris. Buck thought maybe he ought to snatch it back while he had the chance, but it tickled him to let it tempt Ezra. "Is there some other reason to practice running?" he asked, then tilted his head toward the server. "Triple percent tall latte, no foam, and whatever my friend is having," he said, waving in Buck's direction in case the she mistook him for a display rack; it was barely six a.m. and they were the only patrons in the place. 

"Yeah there is, Ez," Buck grinned, sidling a little too close. "It makes my ass look good. You haven't noticed how good my ass looks?" 

The woman behind the counter raised her eyebrows and looked between them until Ezra snarled, "Save it for your queer boyfriend or you'll pay for your own coffee, and I don't see a wallet in that scrap of material you call shorts." 

"Ma'am," Buck said, turning his smile on the woman, "he's as straight as an arrow, I swear on the biggest black coffee you've got." He supposed the way he was panting diluted his charm a little, but she smiled anyway and turned to fill their orders. "And don't use the card, Ezra," he said more quietly.

"We're miles from the hotel," Ezra said, dropping it onto the counter. "It's the perfect place to use it, trust me." 

Buck shrugged and didn't argue. Ezra usually knew what he was doing. 

Outside and walking back toward the hotel with coffee cups in their hands, Ezra said testily, "You just love doing that, don't you? Calling attention to your—" he flapped his hand Buck's way, "—your gayness, and embarrassing me in the process." 

"Is there some other reason to do it?" he echoed Ezra's words from earlier and threw him a grin. "Damn, this coffee's strong."

"Order Americanos in the future. They make them with espresso and water and the flavor is much better." 

There still wasn't much in the way of traffic on the streets yet: delivery trucks, a few early morning commuters, but mostly it still belonged to the homeless people. It was starting to warm up already though and promised to be a hot, muggy day. "What were you doing up so early, anyway?" he asked.

Ezra shrugged. "I couldn't sleep. I kept asking myself what the hell was going on and not finding an answer I could make myself believe." 

Ezra was actually really good at extrapolating the angles from not a lot of information. "Try it out on me, let's see what we come up with." 

They threw ideas back and forth on the walk back, with Buck shooting down every suspicion that Travis, any of their team, or Vin was dirty. "Coincidence makes me ill," Ezra wound down. 

"Me too, Ez." 

"And Chris wasn't exactly a bastion of truth and justice last night, pummeling our cash cow." 

Buck clicked his tongue against his front teeth and hesitated about saying what he was thinking out loud, but if any of them could lie under oath and look like an angel doing it, it was Ezra Standish. "Chris isn't acting like the idea of justice appeals to him much." 

"Revenge?" Ezra asked. 

Buck didn't reply. 

"I understand. If someone killed my mother in cold blood—someone she hadn't actually conned—I think I could kill them." 

Huh. He'd never thought Ezra liked his mother much.

They ditched their coffee cups and started running again, but stopped at the first Starbucks they'd passed for refills. Ezra paid cash. He was right, too; the Americano thing was tons better than the regular coffee. "What else is our new friend hiding?" Ezra asked, tapping a crisp twenty-dollar bill absently against the counter. The steady tic-tic-tic punctuated his words. 

"Who says he's hiding anything?"

"Oh please. Everyone hides something. In his case it's obvious that whatever else is in that box he slept with last night is of extreme importance to him. Why not share it with us?"

"You think he's dirty?" It was a fair question, even now.

"I don't know what I think," Ezra scowled, which from Ezra was as good as swearing to Vin's innocence. 

All their speculation run dry for the moment, they walked in companionable silence broken only by the engines of early morning commuters and the sound of slurping coffee through the little hole in the lid. 

When they got within a few blocks of the hotel, he finally saw something to cheer him up a little. Vin and Chris were jogging along on the other side of the street, Chris in his own shorts and Vin in a tank top and obviously borrowed compressions shorts of Buck's. "Would you look at that?" Buck grinned. He wolf-whistled and laughed when it brought their heads up; Vin looked good. So did Chris. "Damn, lookit the view!" he yelled. 

"Good lord, I'm surrounded by faggots," Ezra said, sounding so put upon that Buck had to resist the urge to pat his butt. 

"Now Ez," he laughed as Vin and Chris made to cross the street, "is that any way to talk about the guys who sign your paychecks?"

"It is if it's true," Ezra sniped. "I'm going to get a shower and try to scrub the image I just had out of my brain." He picked up his pace and was half a block away before Chris and Vin reached Buck. Buck examined Chris carefully, wondering how he was doing this morning. He looked all right, his face pretty relaxed and few hard shadows in his eyes. 

"There's coffee back thataway," Buck said, gesturing with his own huge cup and holding it aloft when Chris made a grab for it. "And Ezra's still got the company card." Chris shook his head and shared a friendly look with Vin and then frowned and looked away in a way that made Buck smile in spite of everything. Chris really didn't want to like Vin, maybe especially now, but he kept forgetting. And Vin was looking pretty good, considering, a little jittery but mostly keeping it under control. Chris had clocked him a good one but there was barely any puffiness around his jaw and just the pale yellowing of a bruise. He must have iced it good, after Buck and Chris had gone to bed. 

"Get it back from him before he buys a racehorse," Chris said, and Buck was gratified when Chris examined him just as carefully. "We won't be long." 

He patted Buck's shoulder as he moved on by and Buck turned to watch them jog away. They really did look good, each in his way, and Buck really didn't have Ezra's problem with all with the pretty pictures that danced in his head. 

W&L • W&L • W&L 

"He watchin' us?" Vin asked, and Chris caught himself before he looked over at Vin. 

"Probably." 

"That guy… must be a handful." 

Chris wondered what Vin had been going to say, but shrugged it off. He'd awoken to an empty bed and cold sheets to find Vin already up and drinking instant coffee with Nathan and learn that Buck and Ezra had set out for a coffee run. Literally. He'd been glad Buck was gone, really, because Buck knew everything about his past and understood too well, and those eyes on him, angry, worried, made Chris feel jagged and raw. Too raw to be grateful, but when he'd seen Buck on the street, glowing with sweat and smiles, it had been easy again to appreciate him. He'd say his words later, and Buck would accept them. They were both good like that, about the important things. 

Vin Tanner was a different problem. He'd been pissed that Vin had held out on them, and still was, in a distant sort of way. But after last night's first burn of rage the gratitude had set in—that maybe he could finally do that one last thing he could for Adam and Sarah. He and Buck had failed, but Vin Tanner had given them a missing piece all by accident. He'd been wary in the hotel sitting room, and seen the wariness on Vin's face too. But his feelings kept shifting unreliably, the gratitude rising up so much that he didn't really care why Vin had held back, didn't care that Vin had obviously suckered Buck—consciously or not—into taking some of the heat for having those pictures come out last night. 

He should have cared, should have defended Buck and put all of his anger where it belonged—and if he couldn't get to those people, then Vin should have been a fine secondary target. He hadn't. 

He wasn't proud of it, but then there were plenty of things between him and Buck that he wasn't proud of. Buck understood him though, better than he liked to be understood sometimes. And he was more than a little proud that he'd stopped himself from using his partner last night… or, from only using him. He ought to tell Buck he was sorry for that, but he knew he wouldn't. They were too solid and had been through too much for pointless apologies, and Buck already knew anyway. Buck would know he was sorry if he held himself in check, kept from going off the deep end. But with his anger bouncing around inside him like a pinball, he wasn't sure he could do that. 

"Thinkin' awful loud there," Vin said mildly. 

He glanced over, took in the healthy sheen of sweat and the even breaths. "Yeah." 

Vin didn't smile and didn't ask, and Chris was glad for that. 

Their run was easy and quiet, no needless conversation as they ate up the miles. Concrete made his shins ache and he kept to a walk after they picked up huge and expensive cups of coffee. Vin didn't try to make apologies or excuses, not that he could. Finding out who that man was in the pictures might go a ways. Finding the man himself—that would do even better. He and Vin were alike in some ways, not given to needless words and more suited to action. If Vin had taken Whitney out years ago, either caught him or just capped him in a back alley somewhere, it wouldn't have kept Sarah and Adam alive. It just would have lost them this link they had now to their deaths. 

When Chris got back to the hotel with Vin, he found JD frowning muzzily at his computer monitor and trying to type one-handed while Buck, Ezra and Josiah argued over the continental breakfast snacks they'd dragged back to the room. They had a bunch of Vin's pictures and notes scattered haphazardly around the living room like mismatched puzzle pieces. Vin blanched, at the mess or the fact that the mess was made of his evidence, but Chris didn't pay him much mind. The photographs brought his bad mood crashing right back down on him and he was halfway to pissed before he realized it. 

Seeing these pictures again made him resent how he kept responding to Vin almost against his will, and resent Vin for being a decent guy and handsome and having his own problems. Resentment, he could deal with. But this feeling in his gut, rage bouncing around in him, he was having more trouble with. He shoved it all down for the moment so that when he walked by Buck's chair he could tease his fingers over the dripping ends of his partner's wet hair without feeling too annoyed. He smiled tightly when Buck looked up, distantly relieved that Buck's eyes didn't harbor any shadows from last night. 

"Vin, why don't you get a shower over here?" he suggested, even though it came out more as a demand. "That way I can get cleaned up in the other bathroom." 

If Vin knew Chris was trying to cage him a little, he didn't show it. "Sure, Chris." 

Chris caught Buck's eye and nodded toward the tv monitors, then headed next door. They were two stories up, so unless Vin was Spiderman he'd have to use the hall if he wanted to get outside. Chris wondered why he worried; Vin's escape from that motel in Salina had been as slick as snot, and if the guy wanted to go, he'd try to go. But maybe if they just didn't make it too convenient, didn't hand him car keys and a map, he'd stick around. And maybe Chris was being an idiot and Vin wasn't going anywhere, which seemed far more likely now that he'd turned over all his cards. Vin wanted to clear his name. It was important to him, to do that. 

Chris turned the water on hot enough to melt off his skin and burn everything away, then stuck his head under it. The hot water pounded down on his brain and he let it, standing there feeling the scald on his skin and the sting on his cuts and just wanting everything to get washed down the drain. For a minute, a long one, he wanted to forget about all the reminders of the life he'd had and lost, because those reminders ate at him in a way that made him plenty afraid he was going to ruin the life he had now. 

Buck watched Chris go, not following but glad for the soft touch and tight-lipped smile. Chris was on a rollercoaster and Buck pretty much expected unpredictable behavior, but he knew without a doubt that he was along for the ride. He got up and leaned on the counter, watching the closed-circuit TV for activity in the hall, and eased back to his original seat when Vin came back into the room with clean clothes in his hand. Nobody liked being watched, even if they knew it was going on. 

"What'cha'll doin', anyway?" Vin asked, hesitating beside the table. 

"Scratching our asses," Buck admitted. "JD's gonna see if he can track down who this guy is. I called Orrin, asked him to reach out to the police without dragging us into it, and Josiah's been reading through your notebooks. I'm waiting for Chris to help me figure out what friends to tap for a little investigative help, and leafing through your pictures." He blew out a breath. "I keep hoping some of the puzzle pieces are gonna snap together."

"Not sure I have enough of 'em, Buck."

Buck wasn't sure either, so he leaned back and made a point of sniffing in Vin's direction. "Go take a shower before I offer to lick you clean," he leered, sharing a less obvious and far more amused grin when Ezra made a retching sound. For that one even JD's face pinched up in disgust, and Buck's grin widened. 

"I'm goin', Ezra," Vin said, maybe a little more uncomfortable than Buck was, winding a straight man up just for kicks. Buck made a point of watching Vin walk toward the bathroom so he could widen his grin when Vin looked over his shoulder and rolled his eyes. 

Half an hour later Vin was cleaned up and already back in the sitting room when Chris stuck his head through the door. "Buck," he said gruffly, "you want to take a look at my back?"

Buck swallowed down his smile and shook his head. Chris Larabee had some of the sweetest ways of apologizing. After a quick look at Chris's cuts, a few new bandaids and more than a few soft kisses, they both returned to the main room where everyone dug into their corn flakes. 

"Can't sit around here all day," Buck said as soon as he'd drunk the last of the milk from the lip of his bowl. 

"We're going to have to start working again at some point," Ezra said, like the idea actually appealed to him. 

"It hasn't even been a day, Ezra," Chris quelled him. "You've spent more'n a day out at our place."

"Alcohol was involved," Ezra said archly. "And I wasn't losing money by the minute, either." 

"Working isn't a bad idea, Chris," Josiah spoke up. "We could borrow some space at Quick Release's offices maybe, get JD to print out enough backup to get us up and running and ask the cops to let us pull our whiteboard off the wall in the office."

Buck looked to Chris to resolve it; he didn't give a damn about work right now. He hadn't thought Chris did either, but Chris said, "I'll call Orrin, see if I can get us set up to pick up the ball this afternoon." 

"Uh…" JD began, and Buck jumped in before the kid could draw Chris's fire, just in case. 

"What's the point of hidin' out if we're going back to work?" he asked. 

"Can't hide out forever, Buck," Chris said. "And…" he hesitated and looked Ezra's way. "And we're not so much hiding out as protecting our assets."

Buck caught Ezra nodding. "What?" 

Ezra obliged. "If they can't find us at all we could be stuck together for a long, long time. Sooner rather than later, we're going to have to make a move or force them to make one."

"We don't know what James is willing to do if he's feeling desperate," Buck argued.

"Leave it alone, Buck," Chris interrupted. "I'm not gonna let these sons of bitches put my life on hold."

Buck looked around their hidey-hole, a sense of foreboding sweeping over him. Chris had already done that when he'd stuck them all in here. Their lives were on hold, and maybe they ought to be until they got Vin out from under this conspiracy or they found out if they could bring Sarah and Adam's killer to justice. But he didn't say any of it because he knew already that Chris wouldn't listen, just like he knew Chris felt pretty much the same as Ezra seemed to and didn't have it in him to sit around indefinitely and wait. 

"JD, you found anything yet?" Chris asked. 

"Nothing," JD huffed. "I don't think I can find anything, unless you guys can reach out to the cops or something. We don't even know his name." 

"Keep trying. Buck, you and I will focus on this case," he said. "You reach out to somebody on the force, see what you can learn. Call Orrin first. Let's try to avoid raising suspicion looking for the same guy through different channels."

It warmed him to see the investigations opening up in front of them, how Vin's problem and Sarah's unsolved murder might be leading to the same place from different directions. It didn't make it any easier to get shot at, but in helping Vin they were helping each other, too, and that was the best kind of job in Buck's opinion. 

Besides, having an investigation to focus on would probably keep Chris from climbing the walls. "I'll get right on it, stud." 

And he did. He found some scratch paper and made a list of office supplies for Ezra to pilfer at Travis's that afternoon, then settled onto the couch across from JD and called Orrin, who hadn't found out anything yet. He called their old captain next—she was still a captain, still running the same precinct not five miles from here, and she sounded surprised to hear from him. 

"Buck Wilmington," she said, and he was glad that the pleasure in her voice matched the pleasure he felt on hearing her. "What's wrong?"

"Something have to be wrong for me to be calling a pretty woman, Cap?" he asked her, and she laughed, deep and throaty.

"It's been a year since you've called me. I was a detective, you know. What's wrong?" 

He grinned. "Not so much wrong as right, maybe," he said then. "You hear about this shooting in Mountain Park a few weeks back?"

"Yes. I heard you'd brought in the murder suspect, too."

"You keeping tabs on me, Cap?" he asked, kind of liking the idea. He'd let a lot of ties slip away in the last few years, and it felt good to think maybe they were still there just waiting to be picked up. 

"Buck, when a suspect assaults a police officer and escapes, we all hear about it."

He'd forgotten about the supposed assault. "Uh, yeah. Listen, the guy we brought in, Tanner, he had some information, hard links to some bad guys we think were associated with Tim Fox and some softer ones to Sarah Connelly. I can't prove it in court yet but I'm pretty sure Tanner didn't kill Kincaid and that whatever he knows has drawn some heat Chris's and my way. We need your help." Chris tossed him a glare from the dining room table and Buck blew a kiss across the space between them. Chris didn't like asking people for help and in his current mood, he didn't like anybody else asking either. Too bad for him. 

"Go on," she said. 

He did. While Chris and Vin leaned shoulder-to-shoulder over the piles of information and Chris grumbled about Vin's amateur investigative techniques, Buck told his old boss about the hit men in Wyoming and the job that had been done on their office. He told her what he thought was important about Whitney, and that they were afraid to go home. 

"I can put your house on a drive-by list, let a patrol car check it now and again…"

He nodded even though she couldn't see him, touched that she'd said "your" house even though he never had. She was a lot smarter than he was. "Thanks. Chris locked up the gate at the road and it's empty right now, but maybe they can take a look with binoculars, make sure nobody's squatting." If they decided to go back, he could ask for more. 

"Fine."

He heard a voice in the background before he could say anything more. "Captain Barker? Sherry said you wanted to see me?"

"Give me a minute, Mark. I'll call you right back in." Then, "Sorry Buck. Not to rush you, but…" 

"We've got a good computer geek but nobody who can replace solid, authorized investigation. We've got some pictures we need names for, where we might find them, and what they're up to. We need a detective, Cap." 

"Not on a federal case, you don't."

"Sarah's murder isn't federal. Not yet, maybe not ever if we don't do something to get people looking in the right direction." He scrubbed at his face with his free hand and looked guardedly in Chris's direction, but Chris had his head down over a notebook with Vin. Chris wasn't fooling Buck, though, and Buck didn't think for a second that he wasn't listening intently. "I thought maybe we could get some help from that direction, and yeah, if there's enough to tie her murder in to the federal case, then a lot of loose ends might get tied up. Maybe more unsolved cases right here in Atlanta." 

"Then you need Mel Sullivan. He's a cold case guy and he's good. If you're confident about the link to Chris's wife and Fox, then he's your man. And he can do it legitimately, on the clock and on the record." 

"Just as long as he knows how to document his paper trail," Buck warned. "People are shooting at us, Cap. In two different states now." 

"He's good. Where can he reach you?" 

Buck gave her his cell number and said his goodbyes. As soon as he rang off, Chris looked up with a question in his eyes. "She'll help," Buck said. "She gave me a name and he'll call."

Chris frowned and looked back down to his work without a word. 

Buck pulled up an empty dining room chair and reached for the stacks of pictures, thinking he needed to start coding the things better, and Ezra nudged JD.

"You're falling asleep again, JD. Let's get you settled in for your nap. And then we’ll need to go pick up our adventure rides." 

Buck frowned at Ezra's retreating back.

"He's moving JD into my room," Nathan said. "Says I have more medical training, in case something goes wrong. He just wants a room to himself, if you ask me." 

Buck grinned. Even doing a good deed, Ezra always had an angle. 

Josiah and Nathan left not much later to go to work, and not long after that Chris got up and made going-out noises. He paced a few steps, cracked his knuckles, jangled the keys in his pocket. 

"Gettin' itchy?" Buck asked him.

"Got things to do." Chris didn't elaborate and Buck didn't ask. Somebody needed to be here in case JD took a turn for the worse, and somebody needed to keep an eye on Vin. Obviously, that wasn't going to be Chris right now. 

"Be careful."

Chris veered toward the table on his way to the door and Buck leaned in to the gentle squeeze on his neck. "Don't worry." 

Buck held his eyes for a second, drinking in the reassuring little tilt of his partner's mouth before pushing against Chris's hip. "Get out of here." 

Chris went, Ezra trailing behind him. 

After the door closed behind Chris, Buck caught Vin's eyes on him. "What?" 

"Where's he goin'?"

Buck shrugged. “Picking up cars. Other than that… who knows?” 

"You don't have to babysit me, Buck," Vin said. 

"I'm not leaving the kid here alone, not after Raine told us to watch out for him." 

"Not leaving me either?" Vin looked a little hunted, and Buck had to admit he couldn't blame the guy. 

"Things changed a little, yeah," Buck admitted. "But it isn't necessarily a bad thing, Vin. Hell, if we get whoever planted that bomb…" he trailed off. It still wouldn't bring Sarah or Adam back. It wouldn't really change anything, except maybe to give Chris a little more peace. 

That was enough. It was a lot. "We catch whoever it was killed Sarah, and we'll owe you. Excuse me for a minute, okay?" he asked, stretching tall. "I wanna go call my mom." 

W&L • W&L • W&L 

Chris left the SUV for Buck in case he needed to move JD, told Ezra to go back and fetch the retired police car—there were a million Ford Taurus’s on the road, so it would at the very least blend in—and headed out in his Camaro, keeping his eye on the rearview. The drive to Hardwick was longer than he liked. He eased into Scott State Prison's visitor parking, sliding his gun and holster under the driver's seat before locking up the car. 

Inside, he checked through security, handing over his cell phone, wallet, pocketknife and keys while the guards called for Timothy Fox. Chris was actually a little surprised when he was told Fox had agreed to see him. "How can I get a list of his visitors?"

"We don't just pass out that information," the CO said. 

"Fine." He'd have to get Josiah to get it, or get Buck to call in a favor from friends on the force. 

Even in prison jeans and a loose tee shirt, Tim Fox managed to look slick. Tall and wiry, he met Chris's eyes almost head-on and tugged out an orange plastic chair with his shoe. 

"Long time," Fox said, and grinned up at him. "You have a cigarette on you?" 

Chris eased into a chair across the table from him. "We're putting the pieces together," he said. "If you haven't already had company you will soon, and I need to get in ahead of the cops. I'm not law enforcement anymore, Tim."

"Then why are you here?" 

"Because I might've left the force but I'll always be Sarah's widower."

"Who's Sarah?" 

"My wife. The woman who got blown up in her car with my four-year-old son seven years ago, just before I testified at your trial." 

"Huh."

Chris shrugged. "I want whoever did it, Tim." He grinned, and it must've been one of those smiles Buck called crazy because Fox actually smiled back. "I want to meet him before the FBI does."

"I want a cell mate who can carry a fuckin' tune, too. We all want things."

"I know the US attorneys. I know the DA. I know the judge who presided over your trial. They'll deal, maybe get you out of this pit and into someplace better. Let you see the sun a little more often, do something to take your mind off the years you have left inside."

"Then maybe I ought to know them. But if you aren't even a cop anymore, you can't do shit for me, Larabee."

"I can keep them from doing shit for you. You can bet your life on that." Chair legs squeaked when he leaned back and draped an arm over the back of his chair. "We're never gonna be best friends, Tim. We're never gonna be willing to piss on each other if the other's on fire. But right now, I'm your best bet for making your next couple of decades easier." 

"Why should I believe you?" Fox asked him. Chris just looked at him, until Fox eased forward, elbows on the table's rounded edge. "I'm up for parole in ten." 

"Take that up with them. I won't get in your way, if you help me now." 

"What do you want?"

"Eli Joe Whitney's being held here in Atlanta on murder and conspiracy charges. We found the links. Whitney, you." No reaction. "Stuart James." Still nothing, so he pulled out the picture Buck had carried around and set it on the table between them. "This guy." 

Fox barely glanced at it, asked, "You got a cigarette?" 

"Why'd you take the fall for James?" 

"Who's James?" 

The guy had played it so cool through his trial that Chris didn't hold much hope of getting through to him now. Still. "When we link them to you, 30 years will seem like summer vacation." 

"Hey, you caught me fair and square, and now I'm doing my time. Doesn't that make you sleep good at night, Larabee?"

"No. It doesn't." Buck did. Moving on had. "How are you sleeping in here?"

"Like a baby." Fox leaned back in his chair, as cool as a cucumber. 

It had been so long since he'd seen this man—so many years had passed and so many things had changed that Chris felt guilty. This bastard had stolen Sarah's laughter and Adam's future, and there had been a time when Chris might have traded his own life to see this man die. But Timothy Fox was just a cog in a wheel. Maybe Chris had always known that. 

"I can't say I don't hold it against you, but I know you were trying to save your own ass. I can understand that." He didn't respect it, but he understood. "So I'm telling you now, if you have a chance to protect yourself, you might want to consider taking it. James has got shooters on the streets, the feds are investigating him, I've already testified once before a grand jury, and if James is getting desperate, he's going to want to snuff a weak link rotting in prison." 

"I'm no weak link," Fox said, leaning forward. His hair fell forward, casting his face in shadow. 

"They know about this guy, Tim," he said, tapping the picture between them. "They know about Whitney. A close criminal associate of James' turned on him and ratted everything out to the feds, and James had Whitney kill the guy for it, and now James is trying to clean up his messes here in Georgia. Trust me, you're in line."

"You don't know what you're talking about, Larabee." 

Chris pulled a business card and a pen from his pocket and scribbled Charlene Cruz' phone number on the back. "She's the US Attorney who's going to be taking James down. If you want to live through all this, you might want to give her a call."

Fox didn't even reach for the card after Chris slid it across the table. "I don't talk to attorneys unless I've hired 'em myself." 

"You'll want to talk to this one. James doesn't want to see the inside of a prison cell, and he's going to if he leaves potential witnesses alive. He's too rich and too fat to take risks. Think about it." He stood up slowly, pushing his chair back. He didn't want to admit it, but Timothy Fox was a smart son of a bitch. He'd call people, he'd learn what he could. And then he'd talk or he'd die. 

"See you around. Maybe." 

The drive back into Atlanta seemed longer than the drive out, but he got back to the hotel well before afternoon traffic heated up. It was good to have the time alone, and to be out of the city. Being away from Vin and Buck and the others gave him a chance to calm down, start thinking straight. And one thing he knew was that he wasn't going to let his life be ruined again.

He wasn't going to let these bastards take anything else from him. 

When he got back to town, he rolled silently by their offices. Crime scene tape lay undisturbed and plywood had been nailed across the doorframe, but Chris figured the local kids or bums had rolled it for paperclips and pens. The computers would be in an evidence lockup somewhere. Chris wondered how long it would be before they could get them back. 

By the time he returned to the hotel he had already decided what the next step was, trusting that the one after that would show itself when the time came. Nathan unlocked the door chain for him then dropped back onto the couch, skimming another one of Vin's notebooks. Buck wasn’t waiting for him, but then Chris wasn’t surprised. Over the years Buck had perfected the art of giving them both room when the situation called for it, and Chris reckoned this was one of those situations. Seeing Fox had been easier than he imagined it would. Easier than he’d wanted it to be if truth be told; he’d let the radio and the wind from his rolled-down windows drown out his doubts on the drive back into town. 

"Where's Tanner?" he asked. He'd convinced himself all over again that Vin wasn't going to run, but he still wanted somebody to keep an eye on him. 

"Buck took him." 

Buck would tell him where he'd been when they hooked back up. There was no reason to call. He called anyway. “What’re you up to?” he asked when Buck answered “Wilmington,” as if Buck hadn’t identified his phone number. 

“Can I get back to you?”

“Yeah.” He rang off, curious now. After a few minutes of restless twitching, he called Ezra. 

“Standish.” Again, like he didn’t recognize Chris’s cell phone number, but that was SOP for Ezra. 

“What do you know?”

“That we’re losing money by the minute,” Ezra groused. “I’m at Quick Release, trying to gain some of it back.”

“Josiah with you?” he asked. 

“Yes. Nathan's taking his turn babysitting JD.” 

Chris could bet Ezra was skipping that turn as often as he could. "Where’s Buck?"

"Why, exactly, would I know?"

Damn it. "We're moving out to the farm. I want everybody settled in out there by the weekend."

"Yes, mother," Ezra said snidely—almost exactly like he talked to his own mother, now that Chris thought of it. 

He grinned. "Good boy."

Ezra hung up on him. 

"Where's JD?" he asked Nathan.

Nate nodded toward the bedroom. "Out again." Chris went in anyway. 

JD was asleep, mouth open and a hard line drawn tight between his brows. "JD." Nothing. He leaned down and shook the kid's shoulder. "JD, wake up."

"Huh—wha'?" JD started to sit up and his face went pale and bloodless. "Ow," he said, dropping back to the bed. 

Chris looked around for the sling, found it on the nightstand. "Come on, kid," he said, easing an arm under JD's good shoulder and helping him sit up. "We've got work to do."

"Ow?" 

He was still half asleep, and still hurting. "When did you get your last meds?"

"I don't know. What time is it?" 

"Not quite two o'clock." 

"Then too long. Raine gave me… another shot this morning. It was still dark. Then she switched me to pills. She said if I needed any more shots I should go back to the hospital." He looked like a kid who'd been told there was no Santa Claus. 

"She's probably right." 

He motioned feebly toward the dresser, where pills and cigarettes and a dirty ashtray sat. "Those are percocet or vicodin or something. Give me two. At least." 

Chris shook out two and handed them over, watching in horror when JD crunched on them and swallowed them dry, then chased them down with the last of a flat Coke. 

"Ow," JD said again. "Shit, ow." He worked the sling on slowly, flinching the whole time, and leaned back against the headboard. 

"You going to be too high to go to the spy store?" 

JD's eyes opened a crack. "I don't care. This hurts like hell." 

"Bullet wounds do that, kid. You'll be fine." 

"Yeah, yeah," he grumbled, and closed his eyes. "What am I getting?" 

"You make the list. Get Buck to help you. We're going home, and I don't want anybody stepping foot on our property without us knowing about it."

JD sighed. "It's a big place. You want the whole thing wired?" he asked. 

"Yeah. Eighty-nine-acre outer perimeter, less important. High points somebody could get a drop on the house from. Very important. House, yard, barn, into the tree line. Cameras too." 

"Shit. I can't set all that up on my own."

He doubted if JD could set up any of it on his own, the shape he was in. "The guys will help. How long do you need?"

JD started to shrug and stopped with a curse. "A little while for these pills to kick in. An hour maybe, to figure out what we need and how to do it. Couple-three hours shopping. That's if they have enough stuff. We'll need battery packs… you have a generator?"

"Yeah." There were two in the barn that Buck had bought on sale. They'd need more probably, to make sure the house didn't get cut off. 

"Okay then." He eased an inch lower in the bed. "If I'm not out in half an hour, I fell back asleep. Come and get me." 

Injured and woozy, JD sounded more mature than he usually did. Chris wondered about that as he shut the door behind him.

Buck and Vin got back before JD stuck his head out, and Vin peeled off for the bathroom. "Hey, stud!" Buck said, too loud for the quiet room. "How’d you get home so fast?"

He slid the .38 back into its holster and rose up from the table. “So fast from where?” he frowned.

“So fast from Hardwick. Whatever the hell you said, pard, Tim Fox called Charlene Cruz while we were sittin' in her office!” 

Hell. 

Buck grabbed him up in a bear hug, not quite lifting him off the floor but close enough and putting enough pressure on his sliced-up back that Chris growled, “Let go of me, damn it.” Buck just laughed, drawing back so that Chris could see the sparkle in his eyes.“I’m not in the mood, Buck,” he warned. Though his mood had lifted perceptibly since Buck had walked through the door. 

"That makes one of us." Buck practically bounced on his feet. 

"You're taking JD equipment shopping when he gets up," Chris said, trying to short-circuit Buck's enthusiasm. "Buy whatever we need."

"For what?"

"Securing the farm. We're not staying here, and I don't plan on being surprised at home like you were in Wyoming."

"Got it," Buck said. He sounded pleased, looked dangerous and in a mood for mayhem. As always, it was a good look on him, a look that did things Chris didn't want to think about right now so he turned on the television and watched ESPN until JD finally got up. 

He waited until Buck and JD left to fish out the keys to one of the vans. 

"Goin' somewhere?" Nathan asked him. 

"I'll be back." Someone had to go first, and while he'd toyed with sending Vin, he couldn't not go himself. Wouldn't. 

When he got to the driveway he parked on the side of the state road, staring for a long time at the locked gate, the whitewashed fence, and their house beyond. 

He didn’t know how long he sat there before pulling the gate key off the ring and opening it up. Thinking about how fucking insecure this place was and how uncertain life was, and how he didn’t want to lose anybody again. Once he’d parked beside the house he sat behind the wheel, looking at the grass, the doors, the screens on the windows, anything that might seem out of place. He took the time he hadn't had before and just waited for something to jump out at him, blow up for him. Nothing happened. 

It had been stupid to leave this place empty and unwatched. He wouldn't do it again. 

The front door looked unscathed, the keyhole unscratched. And hell, if the fucker was going to blow up in the face of whoever turned the key in the lock, Chris would rather it was him. Now that ain’t very kindly, he heard Buck’s voice in his head, but he knew better. Buck bounced back, Buck rolled with life’s punches. Buck was more flexible than any ten people Chris knew, and for damned sure he was ten times more flexible than Chris. 

"I'm not trying to kill myself, pard,” he breathed softly, and turned the key. Nothing happened, and Chris frowned at his own paranoia, checking the entryway for scuffmarks and the alarm box for scratches before punching his code into the system. Somebody was staying here from now on. Twenty-four/seven, until this was over. One way or the other. 

"Come and get us," he muttered, and turned to lock the door behind him. 

He heard a car on the road a while later, and then coming up the drive. A quick peek through the curtains revealed Vin's truck, Vin at the wheel. 

Chris went back to the kitchen to wait. 

Not much later, Vin called from the front door. "Chris?" 

"In the kitchen. What're you doing here?" he asked when Vin stepped into the room.

"Nathan told me you were gonna move us all up here. Seemed like the place you'd go." 

Chris thought about that, thought about how nobody was keeping a close enough eye on Vin and yet still the man had high-tailed it home against anyone's better judgment too, and shrugged it off. 

"Buck not mind you coming out here by yourself?"

"You think I asked him for permission?" Chris said, raising his eyebrows. 

"I think you ought to, if we're all gonna be cooped up together for long," Vin shot back with a grin. 

Chris swallowed back a grin of his own; Vin was probably right. 

"I thought it was too risky here." 

"What's risky," Chris said with a grim smile, "is waiting for one of us to go off the deep end hiding. Better this way." 

Vin didn't ask what way, and Chris wondered if he hadn't guessed. Wondered if that wasn't exactly the same reason Vin had returned to his cabin against all good sense, to force the issue and try to make things happen on his own terms. "Not if Buck finds out you came up by yourself to sit in the dark it ain't." 

Chris opened the fridge and pulled out two beers. "Then we'd best not tell him." 

Vin took his bottle and with a wry look, clinked the neck against Chris's own. "Best not," he agreed.

[Index] [Previous] [Next] 

The Magnificent Seven and it characters @ MGM, the Trilogy Entertainment Group, the Mirisch Corporation and TNN, and was developed by John Watson and others.


	9. Skip Trace - What Counts As A Win: Chapter 8

SKIP TRACE: WHAT COUNTS AS A WIN  
By Charlotte C. Hill and Maygra 

Universe: Skip Trace 

Acknowledgements: Many thanks to Megan for morale and editorial support, as well as a few scenes .

Pairing/Characters: C/B, Vin, Ezra, cameos by the Nathan, Josiah & JD

Rating: NC17 (We mean, seriously...look who's writing this thing!)

Story Notes: With thanks to Megan and Maygra for getting this novel series started, and special thanks to Megan and Fara, BMP and Mardi for encouraging me to see it through. Their editing and moral support has been invaluable.

Author's Chapter Notes: Continues immediately after the novel, "Waiting Games"... 

Feedback: yes, please, any kind, on or off list to charlottechill@yahoo.com and maygra@gmail.com. 

Saturday, June 2  
It had taken some time and some doing to pack seven grown men into the house, but Buck was glad to be home. Nathan had paired off with JD in the smaller guest bedroom, Ezra had announced that he was taking the decent mattress in Vin's room and didn't care who wanted to share it as long as they didn't snore and kept their hands to themselves, and Josiah had taken the couch. "No mattress in the world is worth listening to Ezra complain," he'd said in aside, making Vin and Buck both chortle. 

Chris had ignored the banter and Buck worked hard to give his partner room. It wasn't that difficult with all the work they had to do over the next couple of days. Mel Sullivan came up Friday night with a computer and case files, and one whole file box that was filled with Chris and Buck's own investigation data on Timothy Fox. 

"We tried to link Fox to the Connelly murder," Mel told him when Buck had asked. "I thought, maybe…" 

Chris had sat up with that box all night, poring over every page, reading every report they'd ever written up, reviewing every photograph of every piece of evidence and stacking data in piles like a brain-teaser puzzle over one end of the dining room table. 

Mel had come back this morning, quizzing Vin and demanding the password to the wireless router JD had installed, and pretending to ignore Chris where he sat at the table, staring at the neat little piles he'd made. 

On top of that they had the security to look to, and it had taken the better part of two days to run tripwire and infrared everywhere JD thought they needed it. 

Mel Sullivan was a small guy, not much taller than JD but broader, balding and crabby behind his round, wire-framed glasses. Buck liked him right off because the grouchiness was mostly show, but he and his file boxes took up more than their fair share of room in the already-crowded house. The dining room was the base of operations. Buck helped Mel and Chris sort through old files and looked for holes Vin's intel could fill in between working with the rest of the guys to secure the house. 

They had mounted wireless cameras on fences and atop both the barn and the house, and Buck himself took Vin's truck out and around the property, looking for ways in he'd have tried, vantage points a sniper could use to fire on the house. Then he took Vin too, to get an expert's opinion. He'd missed a couple of obvious places where you couldn't see the house from the ground but had a clear shot from twenty feet up a pine tree, and tried not to feel like an idiot for it. But Vin didn't tease him, just made adjustments and moved some cameras with a serious expression on his face and when they were done he said, "Good work, Buck."

Buck squared his shoulders and slid his hands into the back pockets of his jeans, pushing his hips forward a little. "What's my ree-ward?" 

Vin frowned. "Nobody getting shot at?" he said. 

"You can't think of something better than that?" 

"Cut it out, Buck," Vin snapped.

"What?" Buck was honestly surprised; this was the first time Vin hadn't held his own and played a little right back. 

"You've got your hands plenty full with Chris," Vin said, glaring at him. 

Vin wasn't one for stating the obvious, so Buck knew something else was coming. "So?"

"So I aim to keep it that way." 

Caught by the serious turn, Buck dropped the pose and took a step closer. "Vin?" 

Vin stared up at him, a hunted look around his eyes. "This was why I didn't want y'all involved, why I didn't say anything about his wife. I knew it would look bad, but—but I also knew it could get bad for him, maybe for you too. And it did." 

Buck glanced around pointedly. "Don't look bad from here. Looks pretty damned nice, in fact." 

Vin frowned. "We've stirred up a hornet's nest." He swiped sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. "I don't know how to stop this, Buck, but if I figure out a way…."

"Hey, we're in this together. Like it or not," he added, because it was clear that Vin didn't. 

Vin blew out a hard breath. "Guess so." 

Vin had kept mostly to himself since they'd started digging in, helping out when asked and doing more than his fair share, but more withdrawn than he'd been since his first night out here. Chris too. After deciding to retake the house and fight whatever came their way, Chris had gone almost as quiet as he had after Sarah died, and Buck didn't need to ask to know she was haunting his thoughts. It was obvious in the ways Chris looked at him, a hard glint in his eyes, and how he looked past or through almost everybody else. 

Vin was a bit like Chris, more comfortable with his own company when things troubled him, and Buck had seen each of them walking outside alone, measured the lines of tension in their bodies and worried about them both. When he came to bed though, no matter how withdrawn, Chris would settle down half on top of Buck before he unwound enough to sleep, like he couldn't relax unless he was between Buck and the world. Buck had taken solace in that as well as given it, but he knew Vin wasn't getting that kind of comfort from anybody. Sure as hell not Ezra on the good mattress. 

He nudged Vin's shoulder. "Lighten up, Vin. I've already got me one man looking for the worst around every corner and I don't need another one. When they come our way, we'll be ready. Don't go borrowing trouble."

Vin shook his head, clearly trying to shake his mood along with it and maybe succeeding a little, the way his shoulders relaxed. "That's just what Chanu said." 

"Yeah?" 

Vin nodded. "Every time I went off chasing Eli Joe." 

Damn. He cast about for something to lighten Vin's mood, found it when he realized Chris hadn't left the dining room all morning and probably hadn't told him the news. "Hey. The cops found a neighbor who thinks he saw Eli Joe's car leaving Mountain Park that night, not long after the shooting." 

Vin looked up. "You're shitting me." 

"Nope. I told Chris to tell you."

"He didn't." 

Buck didn't wonder much about that. Chris still wasn't exactly what Buck would call stable, even though he was showing some oddly relaxed moments here and there. "Mel only told us late last night." Mel Sullivan had spent hours in the dining room with banker's boxes full of old case files and sharing a hell of a lot more information than he probably should have. In addition, he was in touch with the Roswell detectives in charge of Kincaid's case and passing on any breaks to Buck or Chris. 

"Damn, that's… that's good." 

"Yep. You're not out of the woods for Jess Kincaid's murder, but I don't think a jury could convict you now. Add to that, all that stuff you picked up chasing Whitney'll keep the feds working overtime for months. And not for nothing, Chris and me have a chance to finally put Sarah and Adam to rest proper. A real chance." He swallowed. "First time in years, Vin. That's, that's big. It's important."

"Not if it gets you both killed, it isn't. Don't argue with me, Buck," he snapped when Buck opened his mouth to do just that. 

"All right," Buck said carefully. "Just answer me something, though. When did you start caring so much?"

Vin blanched, but squared his shoulders. "When I saw that wedding picture on your mantel."

Thinking on that pretty blonde woman in Wyoming, that made all the sense in the world. He hooked a long arm out, wrapping it around Vin's neck and holding tight when Vin made to twist away, then steering him back toward the truck. "Settle down now, Vin. Since Chris has got a bug up his ass, you're the only one left to entertain me." 

"He bein' a pain?" 

"Like you wouldn't believe," Buck said, though it wasn't true. Still, it made for a nice opening. "Almost like we're on the road." 

"He gets bad on the road?" Vin asked after a second, making Buck think back to what Vin had seen when they'd been trailing him. Chris's quietness, Vin wouldn't think to judge. And Chris had been awfully affectionate that trip, petting him plenty even if he still resisted letting it go further than that. And Vin had woken up in that motel in Salina, when Chris had been curled up on him all cozy like…

"Trust me, he's usually not as nice as you saw him being," he grinned, nudging his hip against Vin's as they walked. He lowered his voice a little, flirting, "Not nearly as nice as I'm willing to be." 

"Idiot," Vin said, sounding endearingly like Chris did, but Buck knew appreciation when he saw it and he saw it in those pretty blue eyes. 

"You ought to help me keep him entertained," Buck said, filling his voice with suggestion. 

Vin grinned and nudged Buck back before peeling off at the truck and heading for the driver's side. Buck gave up the keys without argument and they bounced back to the house. 

Sunday, June 3

Chris woke up early, his senses a little sluggish, and left Buck in bed. They'd gone for their regular run Friday, but he'd jumped every time a car approached and could tell Buck had done the same. The image of bullets taking Buck out was stark in his mind, both of them easy targets alone on the road, and by the time they'd gotten back to the farm he'd been more tense than when they left. He'd been so wound up, he'd let Buck fuck him in the shower, five other people in the house be damned. So. No running for a while; if he slipped out alone and got back alive, Buck would find out and shoot him himself. 

He padded into the kitchen in pajama bottoms to start coffee, and Josiah strolled in before the pot had finished perking, fully dressed in jeans and shirt but still more than half asleep. He dropped heavily into a chair with a grunt. He looked a little ragged to Chris, his graying beard growing in thick and his eyes a little bloodshot. 

"Somebody needs to go to the grocery store," Josiah mumbled. He sounded exhausted, but Chris couldn't say why; they were all used to long hours and the couch was damned comfortable. 

"You volunteering?" Chris asked. 

"I'll do it." Chris jerked around. Vin stood in the kitchen doorway, barefoot in his briefs, scratching absently at his balls. Chris caught himself looking, and grimaced. "Sorry," Vin said, sounding anything but. Chris opened a cabinet and dragged down mugs, annoyed that Vin had caught his interest. 

"You two want to take coffee with you? We've got travel mugs in here somewhere…." Chair legs scraped on the floor. 

"Nah," Vin said. "I doubt anybody else'll be up for a while—hell, I'm surprised you two are."

Chris looked at the clock on the microwave, surprised that it wasn't even five a.m. "Fine." He poured coffee into three mugs and took his own to the bench seat, letting Vin and Josiah fetch and doctor their own. 

"What do we need?" Vin asked. 

"Everything," Chris answered. They'd used up the last of the eggs yesterday morning, and most of everything else before all the guys had gone to bed. 

Vin grinned. "My rent's lookin' awful steep these days," he said. 

"How's JD?" Chris asked them both, trying not to look at Vin. He wasn't used to nakedness around here—at least, nakedness that wasn't Buck's. 

"All right I guess," Vin said. "He was poking around in here last night around two, hurtin' he said. I told him to take some more of his pills." 

"Good for him," Josiah said, and blew on his coffee. 

Nobody was awake enough for conversation, and Chris wasn't in the mood to talk anyway. He pushed away from the table when his cup was empty, refilled it and eased the back door open. The boards of the deck were wet with dew, chill against his bare feet. 

Vin came out a few minutes later. "Pretty," he whispered, maybe letting Chris know how easy it was to hear stuff from his and Buck's bedroom but maybe just respecting the stillness. 

It was. The sun was still below the horizon and the shadows were soft, trees and grass drawn in shades of gray. Chris didn't reply and they stood there companionably, though with every minute that passed it got harder to ignore a man in his underwear. "You usually walk around naked?" he finally muttered, as curious as he was annoyed by how it made him uncomfortable. 

"Guess Buck's rubbing off on me… or he'd like to," Vin smirked, then cleared his throat at Chris's frown. "Guess Buck is rubbing off on me a little," he said, wry. "I couldn't find my pants in the dark and didn't want to wake up Ezra. Figured it wasn't worth it." 

Chris accepted that, worked on his coffee a little more. "Buck bothering you?" he asked eventually. 

"What?" 

"Hitting on you." 

Vin flushed and grinned at him. "Truth? No. I kind of like it." Then, "It bothering you?"

Chris leaned his elbows on the deck rail, considering it. It had, and probably would again. But it wasn't like he had room or reason to complain, and when he wasn't being stupid it was entertaining to watch the byplay. "Nah," he finally said, then tilted his head up at Vin, sly. "I kind of like it." 

Vin choked on a laugh. "Damn, Larabee, I told you I can't take two of you."

Bet you could almost slipped out, but Chris wasn't insane. "You're making him frisky—not that he usually needs any help there," he said with a smile. 

"I'll bet." 

They settled back into the silence and Chris pondered his good mood. There wasn't any reason for it, but then Buck liked to say that a good mood didn't need a reason. The morning was cool and damp and beautiful, the coffee was good, and they were making headway. All his instincts said that pieces were starting to fit together even though he couldn't see the whole picture yet. And Buck was in their bed just a few feet away, probably snuggling Chris's pillow and dreaming. 

He didn't expect his mood to last, but he decided to take Buck's advice and enjoy it while he could. It had settled into him over the last couple of days that finding Sarah's killer wouldn't bring her back, wouldn't change anything much. Oh, it would make him feel better, glad to have finished this one thing for her and Adam. It would get a murdering bastard off the streets and maybe afford him and Buck a little more peace, but it wouldn't change what mattered now. 

What mattered now was asleep in their bed and dreaming. 

He smiled into his coffee cup; where the hell was this perspective when he needed it? He hadn't had it last night, looking again at those pictures Vin had taken and trying to fit them in to Sullivan's cold case files. He didn't expect he'd have it if he ever found the bastard who had planted that bomb, or found conclusive evidence that would get Fox a lethal injection. Maybe this was what it felt like sitting in the eye of a hurricane. 

Vin emptied his coffee cup and sighed. "Want more?" 

"Thanks." He handed over his cup, listened to the quiet creak of the screen as Vin went in and came back out.

"Reckon it's light enough I can find my pants," Vin said a few minutes later. "That grocery store we went to before open this time of day?"

"Yeah. Open all night." 

"Okay then. I'll make a list. You can check it, see what I forgot."

"Thanks, Vin."

He stayed where he was, cold, damp feet and all, and waited for the sun to rise. 

Five hours later Chris glared at the stack of dirty dishes that represented pretty much every piece of dishware and cookery they owned, and his good mood of the early morning felt like a dream. Ezra was sniping, JD was whining, Buck was laughing and playing grab-ass with Vin in a way that pissed him off and exacerbated Ezra's sniping. Nathan and Josiah had given up on trying to work and walked out the back door ten minutes ago, and nobody seemed inclined to help him clean up the mess they'd been all too happy to make. 

"That's it." He threw down the sponge. "Ezra, you're on cleanup detail."

"I am not—"

"Buck, you're helping him."

"How did I get volunteered for—"

"Vin, go get your truck and pull it out to the barn, I need something to do before we all kill each other. "

"We could start on the Mercury," Vin said easily, sidling up next to him at the counter. "And I'll clean up." Under his breath he said, "Ain't worth listening to Ezra's bitching just to get him to do it." 

Chris grabbed the sponge out of his hand. "You give him an inch, he takes a mile. Ezra!" he yelled, just as the man was beating a retreat up the hall. 

Ezra turned on him and said, "I do not do dishes."

"Do you eat?" 

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. Thank you. And thank you for imprisoning me in this circus tent with all of these—these people," Erza snapped. "And I don't work on vehicles either, that's what mechanics are for!" 

Buck blew on his coffee and pretended he wasn't paying attention, but his cheerful look gave him away. Chris wanted to strangle him. "Nobody's asking you to mess up your manicure, Ezra," he said, glaring at Buck. "But you are gonna do your fair share around here or you're gonna pack up your Louis Vuitton knockoffs and get the hell out of my house!"

"You say that like it would be a punishment," Ezra sniffed. "They aren't after me." 

"Yeah," Buck said from his seat at the table, friendly and suspiciously agreeable. "All you did was save Vin's ass and drag those four shooters home on a plane. And sit with them for hours in Denver. Probably, you didn't piss anybody off or make yourself sound important. Hell, I doubt they'd even remember what you look like."

Ezra's eyes narrowed. "Bastard," he said, and Chris remembered that Ezra knew it was the truth. He opened his mouth but Buck just grinned and raised a hand. 

"Guilty as charged, Ez. Now come on, quit bitching and help me load the dishwasher. You play nice and maybe I'll even do the pots and pans." 

Ezra cursed under his breath and turned on his heel. A second later the front bedroom door slammed but Buck just got up and joined Vin and Chris at the counter. "He'll be back," he said with more certainty than Chris felt. "And now that he's gone, I can do this." He bent his head and snuffled into Vin's hair. 

Chris waited for Vin to stiffen and jerk away, but all Vin did was stiffen, which pissed Chris off even more. He shouldn't have told Vin he didn't mind, especially when he obviously couldn't fucking decide if he minded or not. 

It was easy enough to grab Buck's hand and bend it far enough back that Buck buckled and stepped away. But the damned smile didn't fade. If anything, it revved Buck up that Chris was jealous. And he'd told Vin the truth on that point—Buck did not need any help there. "Just do the dishes," he said, feeling like a den mother for a demented Boy Scout troop. "And you," he said, turning on Vin, "go get your truck."

"What about the Mercury?" Vin asked him, grinning too. Chris was beginning to believe these two were conspiring against him. 

"It'll take too much work," he admitted. "I need something I can actually see progress on." Vin ambled out of the room and headed for the front of the house and presumably, his truck keys. "And you," he grumbled to Buck now that they were alone, "you can't lay off him for five minutes?" 

"You like it," Buck said, far too sure of himself as he stepped into Chris's space. "He likes it." A hand slid onto his hip and squeezed, gentle and full of suggestion. "I like it, so no harm done." 

"Until I kill you," he muttered, but he hadn't moved away from Buck's hand and to Buck, that was as good as surrender. "He tell you I said that?" Chris demanded.

Buck's eyes widened with delight. "You told him you liked it? Damn, Chris!" 

Chris felt himself start to flush and stepped away so Buck wouldn't see it. "Shut up." 

"Somebody ought to stay inside and keep an eye on the security," Buck said as he turned on the water at the sink and started reorganizing the stacks of dishes. He was right. 

He blew out a breath. "I should do it." 

"Nah. You're gonna blow a blood vessel if you don't do something. I'll stay until I can get one of the boys to take my place. You just relax, stud." 

Chris poured what might be his sixth cup of coffee and dropped into a chair to breathe deeply. This wasn't going to work out in the long term, but he didn't know when something was going to break on the case. The US attorneys had been spectacularly unhelpful, not even telling him if Timothy Fox had given them anything useful. 

A minute later Ezra returned to the kitchen and shoved Buck bodily aside. "Where do you keep your kitchen gloves?" he asked, like helping was all his idea. 

"Under the sink," Buck said, and snickered when Ezra didn't find them. "Give me a break, Ezra, you think we have kitchen gloves?" 

Ezra looked archly at Chris. "Yes." 

Chris flushed again and left his coffee cup on the table, beating a retreat out the back door and up to the barn before Buck could pull them out of the drawer where Chris stored the pair in rotation plus the probably five extra sets still in plastic. Ezra was so much worse than Buck about making him feel queer for liking a clean house, it wasn't even worth comparing. Which was sick, because Ezra's place was cleaner than theirs by a long shot. Damn man probably had his own stock of kitchen gloves…. 

Vin caught up to him in the truck, idling along beside him on the narrow gravel road. "Want a lift?"

Chris shook his head. "I'll get the gate." Vin waited for him while he did it and pulled the truck around by the barn door, waiting again while Chris swung the big loading doors wide. "Pull it on in," he ordered, and stood back. Vin did, and slid out of the truck a second later. He felt paranoid asking, but, "You got a gun with you?" 

Vin raised his eyebrows, then the back of his Henley to show Chris the wide grip of a .9 mm. "Ezra loaned it to me. You?"

Chris shook his head, which made Vin grin for no reason he could imagine. "There's a shotgun in the tool room though," he said, and Vin just grinned wider. "Don't make me want to use it," he added, shaking his head. 

They pulled out belt sanders and went to work on the rust, both of them putting on masks before the air started to take on a dusty red tinge. "Get the exhaust fan," he said after a few minutes, and pointed toward the row of switches along the front wall. Vin tried a few, observing which lights turned on what, jumping when the water pump squealed, and finally finding the one that started the big ventilating fan up in the rafters. 

Vin walked back to him, eyeing the dust in the air. "Might not have been such a good idea," he tried. 

Chris just shook his head. The place needed airing out anyway. "So what's the story behind this truck?" he asked after awhile when they'd set the noisy sanders aside and shifted to hand tools for the detail work. 

"It was my grandpap's." Chris looked at him, wanting to say, "you had a grandfather?" but he knew how ridiculous that would sound. Vin grinned like he'd heard the question anyway. "He's how I landed on the res. He wasn't around long, died about a year after I got there. Then Kojay, grandpap's best friend and Chanu's dad, he took me in." 

"Yeah?" Chris knew exactly how he'd feel about some kid he took in banging his son, but he kept his mouth shut. He'd seen Kojay at the airport in Riverton, so obviously they'd all worked it out. 

"Yeah. Buck didn't tell you this?" 

"You told Buck this?" he asked, wondering when the hell they'd made time for so much small talk. Then he remembered it was Buck he was thinking about, and let it go. "Buck doesn't repeat every single thing he hears to me." 

"Huh," Vin said thoughtfully, and grinned. "He seems like the type." 

"Funny," Chris said, grinning back in spite of himself. 

The silence stretched, broken only by the abrasive scratch of sandpaper on metal, until Vin surprised him. "He didn't have much, my grandpap. Said he didn't want much and I always thought he was telling the truth. He had a trailer we lived in, a few head of cattle that mingled in with the Reeves herd, a couple of pictures of my mom when she was young, and this truck. Wind blew the trailer over some years back, but nobody'd been living in it for a long time so it wasn't much of a loss." 

"But the truck…" Chris prodded. It wasn't exactly a tortoise shell rattle, but Vin clearly thought of it as his connection to his kin. 

Vin leaned against the bed and spread his arms wide, reminding Chris of when he'd caught Vin and Buck not washing it last week. He'd taken his shirt off a while back and bits of metal ash clung to the sweat on his skin. "Don't know," Vin finally said. "It's just a piece of him. I'd never had that before." He ducked his head then, like he'd said too much, and the flush traveled all the way down his chest. "We oughtta get cleaned up," he mumbled, and bent to retrieve his shirt off a stall rail, "make sure nobody's killed anybody up at the house." 

He'd meant it as a joke but Chris jerked a little, worried all over again. The work had done him good, giving him something simple to think about until Vin stirred up all that personal stuff. He didn't want to leave it just yet. "Let's finish this up and get some putty on it or the first rain'll make it worse than it was when we started," he said. The whole property was wired and he wasn't willing to run back to the house just to find Buck and Ezra fighting over the remote control. 

It didn't take long to finish the pieces they'd stripped down then Chris pulled out plastic forms and used them to hold the putty in place. They'd sand that smooth later, prime it. "It's gonna look pretty good when we get it finished," he hazarded, taking a step back. A few hours had made a world of difference already. 

"Yeah," Vin said, pride showing in his voice and on his face. "Thanks, Chris." 

"Sure." Vin's truck might look better but Chris felt better, doing honest work and spending easy, comfortable time with the man, so he figured he'd gotten the best of this deal. "You can still put some work into the Mercury," he grinned. 

Vin grinned back. "You got it. Get in, I'll drive you back to the house." 

When they got back, Chris almost turned around and left again. The furniture in the living room had been pushed back against the walls and the sofa was half in the hallway. The reason was a Nintendo Wii that somebody had hooked up to the television, and Buck and Nathan stood in the middle of the room competing in a high-speed race on the big screen TV. "Who's responsible?" he glowered.

"JD is," Ezra chirped. 

JD let out a little yelp from the couch. "Ezra went and got it!" he said, defensive. "I just said I wished we had something to do besides stare at the walls!" 

"Gotcha, you bastard!" Buck howled, and Chris looked to the screen where it appeared Nathan's car was spinning out into the grass. 

"Buck!" Chris hissed. 

"Just a minute," Buck said, not once looking away. His body swerved and dipped with the steering wheel he held, and Chris felt a tick start behind his eyelid. "I'm gonna win yet!" 

Beside JD, Josiah shared the chip bag with Ezra while both of them watched the screen and spilled crumbs everywhere. He looked to Vin for support but even he seemed sucked into the action. "I never saw one of these up close," he said, a grin lighting his face. 

Chris watched them all for a few minutes and decided that maybe this was everybody else's version of working on the car. But he could picture it already, hearing those game noises in his sleep because somebody would want to stay up all night and all of them acting like they had hangovers tomorrow morning. 

Vin eased a few steps into the room and hovered in front of the sofa. Blindly, he reached down for the chips and stuffed a handful into his mouth, obviously having forgotten that he was covered in dust and grime. 

That, Chris could control. "Hey," he muttered, and when Vin didn't appear to hear him he reached a long arm out and hooked his fingers in the back of Vin's tee shirt. "Hey," he said more forcefully. "No sitting on the furniture til you get cleaned up." Vin looked at him, then down at his clothes as if he only just remembered he was dirty. "Shower," Chris ordered with a smack to Vin's butt, and Vin, looking like a reluctant schoolboy, craned his neck around so he could watch the action as he walked down the hall. 

Chris went into his and Buck's room, stripped off his clothes and dived into the shower. Turning his face up into the spray and trying to be reasonable, he decided that this was probably better than the fistfight he would have bet on breaking out before long. Not a lot better, he thought darkly, but some. 

It really was like having kids again. Kids with nice asses—he rubbed his palm against his thigh. 

He puttered around in the bedroom with the door closed and finally settled down on the bed with his book. He could still hear the game noises and the laughter—and the shouting—but it was muted enough to amuse rather than annoy, and hell, it was probably a good idea. A good way to blow off steam somewhere they could still hear the alarms. Not that they wouldn't drown it out now and again. 

Chris smiled and tilted his head back against the headboard. Just like a rollercoaster, he was back on a good mood and enjoying it. They hadn't done shit on the case, but it was Sunday and they hadn't killed each other either. And nobody had tried to kill them. Maybe a little idiocy was exactly what was called for. 

He didn't realize he'd dozed off until a light knock on the door startled him awake. "Yeah?" he called out, voice scratchy. 

"Chris, supper's on." Josiah. 

"Be right out." 

It looked like Buck and Ezra had done the cooking. Ezra still stood at the stove, flipping eight hamburgers on the griddle to add to a growing stack on a plate. Buck was just setting fixings and paper plates on the kitchen table. It was a tight fit with seven people, and they all jostled elbows while they wolfed down burgers. But it was eerily comfortable. Everyone had blown off steam today, one way or another, and they were used to close quarters. 

He sat back with a beer when Vin and Buck offered to do cleanup, and everyone but Ezra wandered back into the living room. 

"Am I gonna have to call a curfew?" he asked, full and content. 

Ezra arched an eyebrow at him. "Do you think that's necessary, mother?"

"Maybe just for you, Ezra," he said, arching an eyebrow right back. 

Buck chuckled from the sink and at first Chris thought it was from the byplay, but no. Vin was right up against him, and the wet handprint on the back of Buck's jeans was outlined with soapsuds. Vin's hands were the ones in the water. Buck looked over and caught his eye, playful and sly. 

"Utterly disgusting," Ezra said faintly.

Chris wanted to agree with him. 

He tried to ignore the flirtations at the sink but it was damned hard. When he looked their way he couldn't miss it, the whispered words and low laughter, the occasional handprint somewhere completely inappropriate. Even when he looked at Ezra instead, he could still see what they were doing because it was written across the man's face. He looked appalled. 

Apparently he was. "You aren't going to stop this?" he demanded after a few minutes, frowning. 

Chris shrugged and sipped at his beer. In a way he'd brought this on himself, and while they were doing it in front of him he figured they weren't doing it anywhere else. Vin wiped his hands off on a towel and swung near the table on his way out. He leaned in in fact, whispered, "There ya go, Chris, got him all warmed up for ya," and laughed out loud on his way out the door. 

"Very funny!" he yelled after Vin. 

Ezra just dropped his forehead into his palm and said, "I may vomit. No, really, I may." 

Chris hustled Buck into the bedroom as soon as the last pan was stacked in the drain. "Was that really necessary?" he asked, annoyed and jealous and frankly a little turned on. 

"Wouldn't have been fun if it was." Buck chortled, far too pleased with himself. "But damn, did you see the look on Ezra's face?" 

"So. You did it to annoy Ezra. And Vin did it…?" he wondered if Buck even knew. 

"Because I'm irresistible?" Buck tried. 

"Dream on," Chris muttered, and pointedly pulled a pair of pajama bottoms out of the dresser. But when he started to put a leg into them, Buck's palm on his upper thigh stopped him. 

"You really don't want to put on those pajamas, Chris," Buck said, his voice low enough and tight enough that Chris knew he was hungry for it. 

"I really do," he said anyway, not sure which of them he was trying to punish. Buck didn't say anything though, just slid his big warm hand up to Chris's butt cheek and squeezed. The tensions of being stuck up here together waiting for the axe to fall played differently on each of them. Usually. But with Buck just standing behind him, breath warm and sweet on the back of his neck, he could tell this wasn't usual. 

He dropped the pajamas. 

A while later, after they'd sweated and made enough noise that Ezra pounded on the bedroom door in a pique, they curled up together in the middle of their bed, Buck's hands in his hair and on his hip, his own on Buck's ass. He squeezed lazily, remembering the other ass his hand had been on earlier in the day. He'd never thought of himself as being as bad as Buck, never been as bad as Buck. But there was something about Vin Tanner that kept slipping past his guard. It wasn't that Vin was handsome, even though he was. It was just that there was something he recognized in Vin, his own kind of quiet, and the fact that still waters ran deep. 

He resolved not to slip up again and maybe have a little talk with Buck, too. Tomorrow. After he'd slept for nine hours or so. 

"Mmm," Buck whispered, halfway to sleep, "Nice surprise, that you liked seein' that."

Seeing…oh. Oh, shit. He was creating a monster. Maybe two of them.

Monday, June 4  
Buck heard the motion sensor trip while they were all still arguing over coffee. Ezra, Nathan and Josiah were dressed for work but nobody was rushing out the door, and to Buck the whole weekend had felt like a tailgate party gone out of control. He liked it. 

"Who's coming up?" he asked of no one. He was hemmed in at the breakfast nook, JD on his right on the bench seat and Josiah on his left, but even if he hadn't been he wasn't sure he'd have dragged his lazy butt up to go look at the monitors. 

Vin walked into the dining room to check. "Sullivan's car," he announced. 

Buck rubbed his hands together, excited by the prospect of actually finding something today. He'd missed investigative work more than he realized, and was actually enjoying the kind of case work he'd hated as a cop. Everything felt like summer school, he reckoned, if you didn't have to do it too often. 

Ezra pushed his chair back. "That's my cue to leave," he said, and went to the cabinet to fish out a travel coffee mug. Amidst his complaints about cheap coffee he still managed to empty the pot for himself and not start another one, but Buck was in too good a mood to bitch at him. "Gentleman, please try and get some actual work done today," he ordered the room at large, "and keep it in your pants." 

Josiah drew in a breath. "You wouldn't rather they worked it out of their systems while we're gone, Ez?" he said, the teasing tone in his voice pretty much opposite of the thoughtful look on his face. 

"They seem constitutionally incapable of doing so," Ezra sniffed. 

"They're in love, Ezra," JD said, bringing Buck up short. "Leave 'em alone."

"Jesus, did everybody have their ear pressed to the door last night?" Chris asked, sounding faintly humiliated. Buck could not, and didn't try to, repress his grin. 

"Don't really have to do that, with you two," Vin laughed. 

Buck tried not to let his chest puff up too much on that one. It wasn't like he was one to put on a show, but it tickled him that Chris, who could be worse than a virgin girl when people were around or they were working a job, was so hot for him lately. "Ezra's jealous, Chris. Ain't that sweet?"

Ezra opened and closed his mouth a couple of times before he spat out, "I will not stand here and be maligned by degenerates."

"Looks like that's exactly what you're doin', Ez," Vin said, teasing and high spirited today. It looked good on him. "Unless there's some other reason you're hanging around?"

Ezra glared daggers at Vin and then pulled out his car keys. "Josiah, Nathan, I'll see you at Quick Release." 

It had surprised Buck, that Ezra was such an early riser, surprised him more to catch the guy out back early in the mornings doing chin-ups and whatever else he could manage on their makeshift swingset-gym. A lot of things about Ezra surprised him, but that more than most. It shouldn't have. The guy was fit as a fiddle, and you didn't get that kind of body without effort—and lots of what Ezra did was a sham. "See you, Ez," he said. "And let Mel in on your way out." Ezra looked mutinous for a second, then headed up the hall. 

When Mel walked in he dropped his briefcase by the dining room entry and headed straight for the empty coffee pot, holding it up to the light from the window and staring balefully. "Who did this?" he demanded, like it was a capital offense. 

"Ezra," Buck, Vin, and JD chorused. 

Mel groaned under his breath. "It figures." Mel didn't like Ezra any more than Ezra liked him. Mel didn't like unrepentant lawbreakers. And Ezra didn't like cops, didn't like working with them even though it was a pretty big part of his job. Buck wondered sometimes if Ezra forgot that both he and Chris had been cops for years. 

Buck nudged Josiah out of the way and got up to start a new pot of coffee when it looked like Mel didn't have the heart to. "Go on into the dining room, I'll bring you some," he offered.

Mel look first surprised, then grateful. "Thanks," he said, and trudged away. 

At the table, Vin cleared his throat. "Guess I'll make myself scarce." Which was a good idea because Mel was a little wary of Vin. Once he'd sucked all the information out of him he could and learned Vin's coding system, he'd been more than happy to have Vin out of the way and Vin knew it. 

"What are you gonna do?" Chris asked him. 

"Go for a run?" He smiled and gestured toward his well-healed side. "It's good to be able to, again." 

"Be careful," Buck said. 

"Stay off the road," Chris added. 

Buck nodded to himself. He'd figured that was why Chris was giving him a break on the running. 

Vin scratched at his hair, which really needed a good wash, and looked up from under a piece of it. "How about I just go work on that Mercury then?"

"Better," Chris said. 

Once they'd gotten everyone handled—Ezra, Nathan, and Josiah off to Quick Release, Vin working on the car in the barn, and JD parked in front of the Nintendo, Buck let Chris hustle him into the dining room with Mel. 

"Here's a new list of Fox's known associates," Mel told them, sliding across some rap sheets. 

Chris grabbed them before Buck could set his coffee cup down, scanning the faces and the records. "He's not here." 

"The man you're interested in?" He pushed his glasses up his nose, an absent gesture Buck had seen plenty of times before. "No. It takes time, Chris. You know that."

"Not this much time," Chris growled, and tossed the papers down on the table hard enough that they slid off the edge and onto the floor. 

Buck knew how serious this all was, but it was hard not to smile. This felt just like old times, Chris pushing too hard and him smoothing the waters between them and the rest of the department. "What he means is it'd be nice if we could get more computer time." 

"You've got it, Buck," Mel said peevishly. "Captain Barker has dedicated far more resources than I would have expected for cold cases. She did that for you two," he said, but he was looking at Chris, and Buck understood. Sarah and Adam had been a blue family presumed killed because of a cop on the line, and no police department took that lightly. 

"And we appreciate it," Buck said smoothly. "In fact, I ought to drop in and see her, thank her personally." 

"For what?" Chris snarled. "She's had since last Wednesday and we've got jack shit." 

"Well we started out with jack shit!" Mel snarled right back and Buck let him do it. Mel was a bulldog, and he had figured out early that he couldn't let Chris push him around. Not many people had the nerve to stand up to Chris Larabee in a mood, though, and Buck liked that Mel did. "Three photographs, years old. Nobody to canvas, Chris. No witnesses who remember this guy's face."

"Whitney will."

Mel leaned back in his chair and drummed his pen against his coffee cup. "You think we haven't talked to Whitney?" He asked the question like he was really curious about the answer. "What did you expect, he'd claim the guy as his long-lost brother?"

"We should never have turned him over," Chris muttered. 

Mel shot Buck a look. "I'll just pretend I didn't hear that, okay? Because that's about the dumbest thing you've said yet." 

The sound of Chris's chair legs screeching across the floor was as sharp as a pistol crack, and Buck was halfway to his feet to intercede before Chris leaned over the table and right into Mel's face. "You enjoying this, Sullivan?" he sneered. "Logging plenty of overtime?"

Mel didn't even lean back. He just looked up at Chris through his glasses and said, dry as sand, "Oh yeah, it's Disneyland." 

Buck eased back into his seat and made damned sure not to smile at that crack; Chris would kill him if he caught him. Mel might be a little guy, but he was all heart and brains, and Chris would have to lay him out before he'd let anybody know he was intimidated. 

"Chris?" Buck said, soft and easy. "You want to get back to work now? Or take a break?" 

Chris shot him a murderous look, clearly resenting being handled, but when he stormed out of the house at least he did it quietly. Buck reckoned he'd be up at the barn with Vin before long, working on the Mercury, which was good to Buck's mind. It seemed to calm him down. "Sorry about that, Mel," Buck said, defending Chris as naturally as breathing while he bent down to collect the fallen papers. "It's all just a little too close to home for him." 

"I know that. Everybody knows that." Mel sipped at his coffee cup, thinking. "Also? Your partner's an asshole." Then, half-under his breath, "Everybody knows that too." 

Buck chuckled. "Yeah, he is. You didn't get anything out of Whitney? Nothing?" 

"No. And now that the feds have got him we won't get another shot." 

That got Buck's attention all right. "They finally hauled him in?" 

"Three days ago," Mel said, looking surprised. "Nobody told you?" 

Buck shrugged. "Who would have? We're not connected anymore." 

Mel looked thoughtful at that. "I figured Travis would know."

Buck figured that too, now that it was pointed out to him, and he didn't like what Mel was insinuating. 

Mel looked at him, like he was trying to decide what to say. "You've got Tanner here at your house," he said finally. "Nobody trusts him, as far as I can tell. And people are wondering about the two of you because you're protecting him. You've got the detectives at Roswell spooked, you know. And we're not that happy downtown, either." 

Damn. That could be a problem. Not that there was anything he could do about it, until they charged Whitney for Kincaid's murder. He knew how this looked from the outside, but as far as he was concerned the truth would vindicate what he and Chris were doing. "Then why are you here?" he asked anyway. 

"I meant nobody who doesn't know you," Mel said. "Cap trusts you. The people who remember you two from our precinct do too—at least the ones who aren't homophobes." 

That earned him a chuckle and Buck gave it to him. He knew who his friends were, and those that weren't he couldn't care less about. "Mel, you have any idea why the feds haven't brought Vin in? Maybe he doesn't look trustworthy, but he's a better bet than that weasel Whitney." 

"They think that Whitney actually knows things, though. Your guy only has a bunch of unconnected surveillance and too many guesses. Based on his own testimony, he can't prove anything."

"Except that Whitney killed Kincaid," Buck pointed out. 

"Yeah," Mel said, droll, "except that he's the eyewitness from the scene of a murder he's charged with. That's not convenient for him at all." 

"Yeah, all right," Buck let that go, and started scanning the rap sheets he'd picked up. Things were quiet between them for a while, even after Buck filed the sheets into the ever-growing pile in the corner of the room. They needed a break in the case, or Chris was going to keep him locked up here forever. He'd never seen Chris quite like this before, bouncing from one mood to another, never staying too long on one—not even anger. But he could recognize the protective urges and guessed that Chris was remembering how he'd lost Sarah and Adam. No amount of reassuring could convince Chris that Buck wasn't just as vulnerable, that Chris's luck wasn't bad enough to cost him two loves in one lifetime. 

Buck didn't believe that. But there was nothing he could do to prove it to Chris except keep himself alive until they'd seen this through. 

"We've made a lot of progress on a lot of old cases," Mel said suddenly. 

"So?" 

Mel just looked at him. "So, when we get all this stuff logged into a federal database, we'll see a whole lot more. Tanner's information spans several states, Buck." Mel sighed, a grumbling sound that seemed exhausted even though it wasn't ten o'clock in the morning. "His information's going to be keeping a lot of guys like me up nights for months." 

"That's good news," Buck said, meaning it. It would be good for Vin, to tie up all these loose ends and maybe be able to move on with his life. 

"Maybe not for him. A lot of law enforcement agencies are gonna want to talk to him." 

Buck shrugged it off as something to worry about when it came. If it came. "Long as they pay him for his time, I can't see how he'll complain about that." 

"As opposed to arresting him, you mean?" Mel asked him, which surprised Buck. 

"For what?"

Mel flicked a hand over the papers spread out everywhere. "Some of these, they're gonna be pretty obviously related to criminal acts. Some of them have the guys holding weapons, for Christ's sake. And he didn't report anything to law enforcement. They'll try to paint it as obstruction of justice. And so will other people." 

"Fuck that," Buck said, annoyed. "You can't convict a man for not playing amateur cop." Or for playing one but not telling anybody. "And you can't convict him for what he sees either, not unless he lies about it under questioning." 

"You think he hasn't?" Mel asked, like he really wanted to know the answer. 

Buck answered seriously. "I think he hasn't." And if Vin had, well, who would know anyway?

Buck took a break at noon to check on everybody. His head swam with names and dates and faces, and he thought maybe it was time to start a big board on the wall with pictures and string to mark obvious links between criminals and organizations. Mel wasn't kidding about Vin's information, it could have some seriously far-reaching benefits. 

JD was still in the living room, asleep—he looked like he'd just fallen over where he sat. He hadn't fallen onto his right side, so Buck left him there. Chris hadn't reappeared and neither had Vin so he ambled up to the barn. The sun, hot and bright, felt good on his face so he pulled off his tee shirt as he walked to soak more of it up. 

They were both in the barn, heads bent over the front fender while they poked at the Mercury's engine, butts angled out toward the door like one of those really good jeans posters. He smiled, taking in the view of Chris's ass, neater and trimmer than Vin's, then Vin's, fuller and a little more round, then frowned at exactly how close they were to each other. Their hips actually touched, and they spoke so quietly he couldn't hear them from the door. 

Buck thought about that for a second, at how easily Chris and Vin seemed to have clicked—and they had, when Chris wasn't pummeling Vin or pistol-whipping him. He cast his mind back to other moments, remembering both Chris's comfort and his unease. Then he shrugged it off. He didn't have anything to worry about. 

He cleared his throat. Loudly.

Vin jerked up so fast his head hit the inside of the hood. He yelped and rubbed at the top of his head even as he spun around to shoot a glare at Buck. "Sorry," Buck said, and swallowed back a grin. "How's it going?" 

"Still won't stay started," Chris said from deep inside the engine. He hadn't even flinched when Buck announced himself, but then, Chris had a lot more practice at Buck sneaking up on him. "We took the carburetor apart and cleaned it, but it don't seem to be the problem." 

"I still say we need to track down a new starter," Vin threw in. 

"It starts just fine, Vin," Chris said, like they'd been arguing about it the whole morning. 

"You change the spark plugs?" Buck asked them. 

"No," Chris said, voice dripping with sarcasm. "We figured we'd save the obvious stuff for last." 

Buck ignored his tone and sidled close enough to get a look, balancing himself with a hand to Chris's back. "We might ought to break down and pull the engine," he said, kind of looking forward to it. Tinkering with these old big blocks was fun, because they were put together so easy it was just as easy to take them apart. "You know it'll need a head job at least." 

"After we get it running, we'll decide," Chris said, and finally pulled his head out from under the hood. He looked at Buck's bare chest and raised his eyebrows, and Buck grinned at him. Buck angled his eyes Vin's way, to check—yeah, he was looking too, and liking the view if his hooded eyes meant anything. He sucked in his belly a little, causing Chris to laugh at him. "Mel gone?" Chris asked. 

"Nope. I just got bored." 

Chris smiled, and his face looked relaxed and calm. He had a smudge of grime on his cheekbone, like he'd scratched an itch with dirty fingers. Buck was charmed by it for some reason. "You never could stomach all the paperwork," Chris teased him. 

"This from the guy who ran away to play with his car," Buck teased right back. 

Chris nodded and sobered a little, accepting the mild rebuke. "He's not getting anywhere." 

"He's done a lot of good work, Chris," Buck said. "You know this ain't easy. Hey—the feds took custody of Whitney." 

Vin had been replacing tools in the box, and a wrench or something landed with enough force to jangle the stuff around it. "Damn it! That slick sonofabitch is gonna try to cut a deal with 'em."

"Good," Buck said. "If he gets immunity, he'll admit to the Kincaid murder. You'll be free and clear, Vin."

"Not if Eli Joe walks," Vin said darkly. 

Buck had decided sometime last week that he just didn't care that much about Whitney, except in how he could keep Vin in trouble or get him out of it. He didn't like the idea of a guilty man getting off, but if it meant the innocent man in front of them would be exonerated, he'd take it. And if Whitney cut a deal he'd be under the thumb of the government for years at least. Buck wasn't dumb enough to say that to Vin right now, so he glanced in Chris's direction. Chris's eyes were waiting for him, and the tight shake of his head told Buck they were thinking along the same lines. He nodded back. "Anybody ready for lunch?" he asked, changing the subject. 

"I could eat," Chris said. "Put your shirt on before you give me ideas." 

Buck chuckled at that, glad Chris was trying to distract Vin a little, and his vanity couldn't help but like knowing just standing here shirtless could be a distraction. He chuckled, and he put his shirt on. 

Once Chris followed Buck back to the house, he picked up with Mel where Buck had left off, comparing notes, reading case files, pushing toward slotting the pieces together where they'd fit. He could sense something, some kind of pattern buried in all this data, but he couldn't tease it out of the evidence or his head. So he spent an hour reshuffling the old information on Timothy Fox, and when he was done the smallest stack held his attention. It was all unconnected bits of background information, trails leading to nowhere, or so they'd thought four years ago. A suicide that probably wasn't in downtown Atlanta. A drug-related murder in Brunswick, probably street-corner punks fighting over a drug deal gone bad. The evidence collected by the state task force from an anonymous tip that had yielded three pounds of marijuana from the back of a gas station in Macon, where Fox's base of operations had been. Abandoned cars with plates and VIN numbers removed, and more bits and pieces no one had ever bothered to connect. They hadn't needed it to convict Fox, and hadn't bothered with it after the bombing. 

He fingered the edge of the papers. "Who worked on this case after I left?" he asked Mel. 

"Wilmington," Mel answered absently. 

"After Buck?" He'd recognized Buck's initials on post-trial reports, but there wasn't anything there. 

"Nobody," Mel said. "We got the guy." 

"But we never actually found the connection between Fox and the bombing." 

"What do you want, Chris?" Mel said, annoyed. "Your testimony put the nails in Fox's coffin and now he's in prison for forty years. Everybody knew it was him." 

"I'm not sure what I'm looking for here," Chris said, musing. 

"Give me a break," Mel muttered, his head down over his own files and Vin's. 

Chris did, pulling out the thin folder they had on Stuart James. Mel had dug it up for him, only what a police computer could find, and it wasn't much. 

"James isn't fitting in anywhere I can see," Mel said, and Chris looked up to catch the man's eyes studying him. 

"Me neither," Chris admitted. "But we don't have much. If we could just get the feds to open up…" 

Mel blinked at him. "Nobody told me you had a sense of humor," he said dryly.

Chris grimaced, and glanced over at the picture of Sarah and Adam and their unknown suspect. It sat on the corner of the table, where it had for days. He picked it up and rested it over the unconnected bits from Fox's file. What the hell was he missing? 

Just after three o'clock Mel made leaving noises. Chris walked him out, locked the door behind him, and stretched out on the couch to enjoy the quiet. Buck had gotten JD up to eat, then given him more pain pills and tucked him into bed in the guest bedroom just off the kitchen. If Vin and Buck were still in the house they were quiet about it, and Chris hadn't had much real peace and quiet in days. Nearly a week, now. He zoned out a little, listened to noisy birds outside, the quiet snap of the screen door out back being carefully opened and closed, water at the kitchen sink, words spoken so low they sounded like little more than whispers. 

So the muted "Fuck off, Buck," brought Chris's head up off the sofa cushions, and he craned his neck to catch the sliver of hallway he could see without getting up: nothing. Then Vin stormed past him and into his bedroom and curiosity drove Chris off the couch and to the kitchen. He didn't think he'd heard Vin shout before. The scene in the kitchen didn't do much to clear matters up; Vin was gone, and Buck stood by the kitchen sink looking far too pale. 

"What?" he asked, raising his eyebrows, genuinely concerned when Buck wouldn't meet his eyes. "Buck?" 

"I... I didn't mean it," Buck mumbled, almost as if to himself. "We were just horsing around, and I didn't mean to–" but he trailed off again, and when the third and fourth attempts ended the same way, Chris lost his patience.

"What the hell happened?" he barked, and when Buck snapped out, "I kissed him," Chris wished he hadn't asked. This had been right on the edge, lurking in the shadows and around corners every time one of them turned the hose on the other or sat too close for too long on the sofa, neither one of them backing down much while grinning like fools at each other, and whatever Buck had done had brought it out into the light. 

Now Buck didn't seem to be able to shut up. "I thought we were just messing with each other! I said something, he said something else, I just... I stepped right up to him like I do, and bent like I was gonna—and he just—I thought he was gonna back down, Chris, I swear, but he didn't and I didn't, and..." The way his voice dropped off, it sounded like he was talking to himself again. "I thought he'd back off, shove me, laugh... but he didn't. Felt like forever. Felt... good. Then I realized– ah hell, Chris, I'm sorry."

And quick as that, the flood of words trickled off. He could see it easily enough, the picture Buck painted, the instant where something changed where a joke or a dare or a threat turned into something else, even knew the shock Buck must've felt when he realized a line had been crossed, a line he had skirted with such easy consistency all this time... pretty much from the first, between those two... he could see them standing there, probably by the stove since the fire was still hot under a pan, Buck leaning down, Vin tilting, the image of it frightening and foreign, offensive, sexy... dangerous. Just like the fire he and Vin had played with in two different bathrooms in this house. And now Vin was probably locked in his bedroom, scared or justifiably pissed. 

Chris lifted his head then and met Buck's eyes, saw the apology in them and the remorse, and cursed under his breath. "Nimrod," he snapped, and walked out to the living room. 

Buck left him alone, which reassured Chris that Buck knew the score, that yeah Chris was pissed off but no, this wasn't the time for groveling or apologies; they'd weather this because they were tight enough, sure enough of each other to weather it. Hell, half of it was Chris's own fault and he wasn't going shovel all the blame on Buck. He'd been the one to tell them both at one time or another that it was no big deal, and not to worry. Should have said the opposite...

He parked his hip on the back of the sofa and folded his arms tightly across his chest, resisting the urge to hit something—or someone—and stared toward the front hall, trying to turn down the volume on the voices in his brain. He didn't want to believe that Buck had done something so stupid, but he'd watched it building all this time and he hadn't done a goddamned thing about it. That Buck would—shit. He'd kick Buck's ass for him later, he really would. It wasn't just the move Buck had made, but it was the timing. Could Buck not have waited until life was a little less crazy to pull a dumbass stunt like that? 

No, he reminded himself. This was exactly the kind of thing Buck would do to bleed off his tensions and his fears, though Chris honestly thought he'd been keeping Buck satisfied enough to stave off most of his worries. But their whole world was turned on its head right now, and—and Buck had admitted his sin, without hesitation. That meant something to Chris; it meant a lot. Buck knew he'd screwed up. As long as Buck didn't do anything else, as long as Vin didn't go loco on them and try to run… Chris sucked in a deep breath and held it. As of yet there was nothing to fix, and nothing to break. Not yet. He'd just sit here until he'd calmed down or figured out what to do about this that wouldn't risk Vin bolting. 

It took an incredibly long time. 

In fact, when a door snicked open and Vin eased out, quiet as a mouse, Chris was no closer to an answer, or anything like resolution. "Don't let it rile you," he said, before Vin's outstretched hand connected with the front doorknob. 

Blue eyes snapped up, pale and angry. "Fuck!" Vin spat, and whatever peace he'd found dissolved, his eyes flashing, temper flaring, and he stormed back to his room. 

No help for it; Chris followed before Vin could skip on them, because his gut told him Vin wouldn't come back, and no way were they going to chase him down again, not for the bail surety they'd promised Orrin and not for all of the other reasons they might have to fetch him back. He stopped in Vin's half-closed doorway, easing the heavy door open and leaning on the frame. Yep–the rucksack Vin had pilfered from Buck was on the floor, and Vin was prowling around the room, cat-like and quick. "You don't have to leave."

"Yeah," Vin said, cold, "I do."

"Well see, Vin, there's the problem. We've got the surety on you. Technically you're in our custody."

"That's not my problem."

Chris took a step into the room. "You're not leaving," he said, firm. 

Vin stared at him, heat and want boiling in his eyes. "Fucking goof-off Buck just can't stop needling," he said, the words low and harsh, the voice tight. 

"Yeah," he agreed. It wasn't like he could argue the point. 

"That dumb bastard took offense at me, after a hundred bullshit passes…" He was pacing now, possibly not even realizing he was still talking given what he revealed. "I slip one time, once–" he looked up then and growled, "Don't make me go through you."

All Chris did was square off a little and shift his weight forward, readying himself for a fight if that's what it took. Almost welcoming it. 

He couldn't say what Vin was thinking now, or maybe he could say Vin wasn't thinking, because he stepped right up to Chris, almost pressing against him, and sneered, "You don't know who you're fucking with. Now get out of my way." 

They could fight, throw their weight–and a few punches–around, and the noise would draw Buck, which Chris reckoned was the last thing Vin wanted. "No."

Vin fairly vibrated with tension. "Get out of my way Chris, before I do somethin' we'll both regret." 

Chris almost smiled. "No." 

He relaxed his stance, wondering if Vin would take a swing anyway—he looked mad enough to—but Vin surprised the hell out of him. He reached up, telegraphing the move so Chris didn't think to duck it, but he wished he had when a second later Vin had him by the back of the neck and pressed his mouth to Chris's, open and wet. 

Chris almost smiled. If he hadn't been with Buck for so long maybe the scare tactic would have worked, but Buck had short-circuited so many arguments with almost exactly the same move, Chris responded before he thought about it. Then, damn, no wonder Buck didn't stop, he thought as Vin's tongue, wide and flat and sure, licked into his mouth. He reached without thinking, put his hands on either side of Vin's waist to hold him like Buck had done more than once—to pull him closer or push him off, he couldn't rightly say, because heat was building like the point of a lightning bolt, and he understood a little better why he'd come so close to doing this in the bathroom a week ago, why Buck's outrageous plays hadn't bothered him more than they did; he liked this. Some piece of him had wanted this, just like Buck had. 

The thought should have been like ice water, but after the time and close quarters he and Buck had spent with Vin, all he could think was to hell with it. One of them moved, and he nearly tripped on Vin's packed bag but saved himself at the last second and turned, bumping them both against the dresser. Distant echoes of sound barely reached him, something rattling and falling to the floor, but now his hands were underneath Vin's shirt and Vin's were under his, and they were grasping at each other, shoving their groins together like this one moment was everything–

"Am I interrupting something?" Quiet words, spoken from the door, shocked him back to reality, and Chris felt Vin stiffen in his arms as he heard all the reasons why this was a bad idea contained in that reserved, wary tone of Buck's voice. When Vin's twitching efforts turned into an honest struggle, Chris let him go. 

Vin wrenched free, panting, his neck flushed red and his dick outlined hard against his faded jeans. So fast…. 

"Yeah," Vin snarled at Buck, "you are. So how about you just turn around and get the hell out of here?" Vin's hands balled into fists at his sides and Chris thought he must think he looked dangerous. He was. But not in the way he thought. 

Chris flicked a glance toward the door and held his partner's gaze. He had no trouble reading the confusion and anger there, even less the arousal, unwitting and unwanted and probably surprising Buck more than it surprised Chris. If Chris had walked in on Vin and Buck doing this, he'd have punched one or both of them before he'd even thought about it. 

But Buck always had been quicker on the uptake than he was in these matters, more understanding of the simple humanity in people that allowed for mistakes like this to happen, and while Chris watched, Buck's anger discomfort melted not to the bank-down anger but to guilt. Chris quirked an eyebrow, reminding Buck whose responsibility this mess was. Buck frowned harder and half-shook his head, and took a long moment to just look at Vin, head to toe, then Chris. 

"One of you want to tell me what just happened?" Buck asked, his voice softer now, reflective. He must already know what had happened; it had been a page out of his own playbook. 

"Vin didn't want to try and go through me," Chris said, throwing a look Vin's way. The fury had died down there too, leaving a man whose face said it all: fear, frustration, longing. It helped some, that Chris wasn't the only one off-balance. And it made him realize that, stupid as it was, maybe the best way out of this was through it. "Guess I was right," he said to Buck, willing his partner to remember or catch on. 

Buck looked even more confused for a second, and the only sound in the room was Vin's labored breathing. Then he looked shocked, and met Chris's eyes squarely. "You serious?" he asked. 

"Guess so," Chris said, wondering what the hell he was doing. He watched Buck take it in: the offer, the possibility, maybe a way to ground this live wire that had been sparking between them all and let the energy bleed off somewhere, settle them all down. He saw it all on Buck's face, weighing the options, assessing possible consequences, and when a slow grin twitched the ends of Buck's mustache, he knew they'd already forgiven each other—for Buck's stupidity and for Chris's own. 

Chris might have gotten to where Buck was now eventually, but only after a whole lot of yelling. 

Buck shook his head, awed. "Never would have expected this from you, pard," he said, his words measuring. 

Chris shrugged. It was funny that, of the two of them, he would be the one to start something like this. Maybe he was the only one of them who could, the only one who hadn't anticipated anything remotely like this and so hadn't guarded against it at all. He felt his lips twitch, not exactly a smile but sharing the joke, and it sparked a softening on Buck's face, a slow crinkling around his eyes. 

"You are somethin' else, Chris," Buck said, soft and admiring for all the fear in this room. 

"Learned from the best," Chris offered, teetering on the brink of compounding Buck's mistake in the kitchen. He took a deep breath and relaxed his shoulders, waiting for Buck to decide one way or the other. 

Buck looked to Vin again, his forehead creasing, and Chris shook his head. Damned if Buck wasn't empathizing with Vin's predicament. But when Buck looked back his way, his eyes searched Chris's face, probing for any doubt or anything that would make him put the brakes on this. And apparently Buck didn't find it, because bit by bit his worry smoothed away, replaced by a shit-eating grin. 

"Larabee! I never knew you had it in you!" he said, and they were both on the same page with no recriminations. Buck's grin broadened now, happy and speculative. He took a step forward but Vin took a step back. 

"Don't you mess with me, Buck, you hear?"

"Uh huh," Buck said, closing on him anyway, and Chris almost laughed out loud. "I hear you, Vin. Just don't start swinging. Ease up." Slowly, Buck reached and Vin froze, angry, wary, untrusting, as hands cupped his face, gentling him, a soft-crooned 'shhh' worming its way through his defenses. Chris could appreciate the technique from the outside as well as he could when it was used on him; Vin, because he'd wanted this or something like it for who knew how long, didn't stand a chance. 

He recognized the moment when Vin understood, eyes widening, jaw dropping, the faint, weak "Jesus" slipping past his lips just before Buck covered them with his own. 

It should have made him angry, he supposed, but he decided to save it for later and just enjoy how good they looked together. It should have roused his jealousy, but he knew Buck as well as he knew himself, and he understood that in this Buck wouldn't go anywhere without him. 

He was amazingly fine with that. 

Vin was breathing hard through his nose, the sound loud in the room and not quite drowning out the slick smack of lips sliding against lips. He wondered if he should remind them he was still in the room. 

Buck's hands slipped off Vin's cheeks and into his hair, threading through it, using it like a rudder to tip Vin's head back, and Chris stepped up behind Vin. This wasn't really a spectator sport. 

Vin flinched when Chris put his hands on him, sliding them around Vin's waist and pressing in between Vin and Buck. He let his knuckles rub up under Buck's tee shirt and against his belly just above his jeans, peering over Vin's shoulder until Buck opened his eyes. He looked a little startled and a little spooked, but Chris shook his head: later. If they were going to do this—and it looked like they were—he wasn't going to spoil it by thinking too much. Later they'd think, might even talk if he couldn't get out of it, but for now he just stared into familiar blue eyes and asked the question. 

"Hell yes!" Buck said before diving back into Vin's mouth, and Chris could laugh now even while he grabbed the hem of Vin's Henley and started dragging it up his body. 

"Buck…" Buck pulled his head back but grabbed Vin's hips in one smooth motion, pulling them forward for a hard bump and grind while Chris tugged the shirt up over Vin's head. 

Buck sighed, eyes bright and lewd as the rhythm of his groin bumped Vin's ass back against Chris. "Damn, boy, you're ready for something, are you?"

"I swear to God, if you two are fooling around…" 

Chris felt his eyebrows crawl up into his hairline when Buck dropped fluidly to his knees. "I think there's gonna be a lot of foolin' around in the next little bit," he quipped, reaching for Vin's fly. Chris met his partner's fingers there, getting in the way a little to slow Buck down, make him think. Buck caught on eventually, just about the time he got Vin's dick out. "Damn it, tell me you've got rubbers, Vin." 

"I—yeah, I've…" he swallowed thickly. 

"Well where the hell are they?" Buck growled, his voice rough with desire. Vin's eyes must have tracked to the dresser because Buck stood and reached for the top drawer, rummaging amidst underwear until he came up with a strip of Trojans. He was back on his knees and had Vin's dick sheathed before Chris had time to do more than appreciate his technique. Then he had all the time in the world to appreciate it, to feel Vin's shoulders push back against his chest while his pelvis arched outwards, pushing his dick into Buck's mouth. And Buck… Chris choked on a breath of laughter. Buck was in it for the porn now, lips stretched tight and cheeks hollowed as he sucked. Chris knew exactly what that urgency felt like and couldn't keep from thrusting his hips forward, rubbing his erection against the firm mound of Vin's ass. 

Between them, Vin groaned. A shudder chased down Vin's back and Chris watched through veiled eyes as Buck drew off Vin's cock and eased back to his feet. He bent in to chew on the fleshy part of Vin's ear and watched his partner as Buck toed out of his shoes, shucked off his jeans, and stretched back up tall, eager, proud for all the right reasons. 

A flash of something, Chris couldn't tell what, darkened Buck's eyes for a moment, and then Buck was squashing Vin between them and pushing his head out of the way so he could kiss Chris. The kiss was nasty, loud and sucking and passionate and right there by Vin's ear, peppered with little whining noises he'd have sworn they just didn't make. Maybe he was only hearing them because he knew somebody else was listening too. And Vin didn't have much choice about that, trapped between them as they leaned more heavily front and back, like they were trying to meet somewhere in the middle of him. 

Vin's hips jerked between them, not that he had much room to move but he was doing the best he could, and Chris pulled his head back to look, saw Vin's arms stretched forward clutching so possessively around Buck's hips that he felt a spike of jealousy. And heat. So damned much heat. 

Intuition told him what Vin was feeling, that unspoken connection between them serving him now. He reached around Vin and Buck both, grabbing at the smooth bare skin of Buck's waist, and started thrusting, pushing Vin into Buck, hearing the new pitch of whining and glad it came from Vin instead of them, and then Vin went stiff, groaning loud and long. It took a second to register what was happening, because it was so fast and so different from Buck, but Vin was definitely coming. Ripples like waves shuddered through him but other than that he was utterly still, breath hissing through his teeth, his hands clutching hard enough at Buck's hips that Chris slid his own hands down and over Vin's, easing the tight tendons. 

"If you bruise him—" he started, but Buck cut him off. 

"I'll say 'thank you'." Buck looked far too pleased with himself when all he'd done was stand there and look sexy. 

Vin struggled briefly between them and managed to push Buck back enough to turn around, his eyes wide and heavy. A smile played around that pretty mouth, and Chris wondered if it were faked—Vin, for all the post-orgasm lassitude, didn't look all that comfortable. 

"So," he asked, proving Chris's suspicion, "you two do this a lot?" 

Chris speared him with a look, uninterested in this line of questioning. "No," he said, and kissed Vin. When Vin's hips started bumping against his, he didn't have to open his eyes to know the movement came from Buck and he laughed inside his head at the picture they must be making: Buck stark naked, Vin shirtless with his dick hanging out, and himself fully clothed. 

He wanted to fix that. 

"You two planning on standing here all day?" he asked after he pulled away from Vin's mouth. 

Buck stood behind Vin now, his hands splayed around Vin's belly while he kept rubbing against Vin's ass. He had his chin propped on Vin's shoulder and the look in his eyes was devastating, a happy, electric blue that practically shone from the inside. "I think we can move," Buck said, easy, and started tugging Vin back toward the bed. 

Vin still looked a little stunned and a lot nervous, but Chris really didn't care. He reached to tug at the waist of Vin's pants and underwear, pushing them down his legs before Buck eased his butt down to the mattress. The boots took more thought and too much effort, and he heard Buck's quiet laughter from above him while he worked the laces, staring at Vin's half-hard dick just inches from his face. 

"We've only got two more rubbers," Buck said, sorrowful, and Chris snorted. 

"We'll make do." But he noticed that Vin looked embarrassed, which was odd. "You do this a lot?" he asked, sitting back on his heels when he'd gotten the second boot off. 

Vin stared at him. "Never have," he admitted like it pained him, and put his attention on pulling off the condom and tying off the end. 

Chris put his hands on Vin's knees, rubbing affectionately. "Us too," he said, and tossed a grin up at Buck. 

Buck chuckled, nuzzling in Vin's hair, and Chris expected the, "Yeah Vin, you're our first," in a tone all too reminiscent of a teenaged girl. Vin looked unaccountably relieved to hear it. 

"There you go," Buck said encouragingly, and Chris looked up from unzipping his jeans to see Buck, kneeling behind Vin, one hand draped over his shoulder and casually tweaking at a flat brown nipple. But Buck's eyes were all for him, hooded and intent. Chris couldn't feel self-conscious, even though Vin's eyes were on him too. His dick was too hard. 

He shucked down his jeans and underwear, then stood to pull off his shirt, shocked into stillness when, while his shirt was still blinding him, a hand grasped at his erection. It couldn't be Buck's, and that awareness sent a shiver through his belly and groin. How many years had it been since anyone but Buck had touched his cock, stroked it with that experimental, light touch to see what it liked? He tugged his shirt off and looked down, watching Vin's tanned hand moving on him. Buck was watching too. Chris stepped closer, into the space between Vin's knees, not asking or expecting anything but still, when Vin's head dipped down, his belly tightened in anticipation. 

As soon as Vin's lips tightened around the crown of his dick he groaned, arching into the heat and the hard press of tongue against his slit. Vin was hunched forward, the smooth, tanned skin of his back on display and then Buck's chest right behind it, and something tender tore at Chris's chest as he watched Buck carefully smooth Vin's hair back and away—and out of his line of sight, Chris realized with a hot rush of lust. Buck was watching, and getting off on watching if the way his chest heaved meant anything. Chris reached out, one hand on Vin's head and the other on Buck's, carding through the thick dark hair and tugging a little until Buck met his eyes. Oh yeah, Buck was getting off on this. His face and chest were flushed, his eyes bright and wide, mouth open and panting like a dog. 

"Damn, Chris," Buck breathed, and Vin went still between them. "No Vin, no… you don't need to stop," Buck urged him, petting the side of his face. "Damn, you…" 

Chris wanted to laugh at the way Buck couldn't string three words together, but there was nothing funny in this. Not in the way Vin's head moved forward and back, so achingly slow and intent, not in the way his tongue curled around the bottom of Chris's shaft, laving it up and down while his hands gripped almost painfully into the backs of Chris's thighs, and definitely not in the way Buck's eyes kept getting drawn back to the action. 

"You look so good, Vin," Buck muttered, and the suction of Vin's mouth increased. "So good. He loves that, loves a good blowjob, and from what I'm seeing… damn." Buck's fingers traced down Vin's jaw and around the stretched edge of his mouth where it wrapped around Chris's cock, measuring the tension in the puffy skin and rubbing along the side of Chris's dick as Vin moved up and down it. After a minute he cupped Vin's jaw and eased Chris's dick out of his mouth. 

Vin looked a little lost at first, licking his lips as he looked up and caught Chris's eye and yes, that was hunger there, and passion and need… and the loneliness and frustration that Buck had all unknowingly been stirring up with his games. "Hey," he said, kneeling in front of Vin, "easy." He leaned forward to kiss Vin, put some of himself into it and slid his tongue deep. He didn't want to promise anything but they weren't just taking here, either, and he needed to be sure Vin understood that. 

He didn't look like he did. He looked more dazed, in fact, when Chris drew away. "You keep sucking me like that," he breathed, "and it'll be over before it starts." Chris glanced down to Vin's groin where his dick was still half-hard. "I think you've got a little more in you," he said. 

"Hell yeah," Vin replied, his voice low and shaky. 

"Buck?" 

"I wondered when you two were gonna remember I was here," Buck said, but he was grinning and the words were gentle. 

"You don't have anything to worry about, Buck," Vin said, and half-turned to push Buck flat against the bed. Chris thought at first that Vin was going to treat Buck to some of what Chris himself had just gotten, but Vin scooted up, knees wide on either side of Buck's hips, and dropped down so that their chests pressed together. 

"I wasn't worried," Buck said, his voice sweet and filled with reassurance. Chris knew Buck wasn't, that now that they were all here he would settle into that slow, hot burn where he rode the edge as long as he could stand it. Buck's fingers disappeared into Vin's hair and tugged him down, and Chris looked on while they kissed and rubbed against each other. 

The view was… pretty spectacular. Buck had twisted his legs around so that now they hung off the edge of the bed, and while Chris watched Buck untangled his fingers from Vin's hair and rubbed down his back, careful even now when they got to the angry scar and traced it lightly. Then Buck's hands roamed further, squeezing that full, firm ass and then pulling the cheeks apart so he could see Vin's asshole and the space between his spread thighs where his balls hung down above Buck's. 

He swallowed on a dry mouth. That was just dirty, and looking made his dick throb. He eased to the side of them and settled on the bed, one knee drawn up, and just watched. Watched Buck's constantly roving hands and knew exactly how they felt, how they'd chase down anything that made Vin twitch or groan and do it again and remember. It was easier and harder from the side, away from the porn shot Buck had given him—probably unwittingly, but Chris couldn't be sure. Vin's hands clutched at the sheets while Buck proved that all his teasing and promising about how good a long, slow kiss could be was true. 

Only a flicker of his eyes took his gaze down to where he could catch glimpses of Buck's swollen and flushed cock stroking against Vin's thigh, Vin's belly hollowing out as he pushed back against Buck, meeting him stroke for stroke but Vin was lagging a little, his cock still no more than half-hard and Chris wondered how frustrated that made him. He'd come so fast, so hard, Chris was a little surprised Vin was even half-hard now, but he understood that kind of excitement. Sometimes you could just keep going.

Then Vin slid down and off the end of the bed and put his mouth over Buck's cock and Buck's belly was the one hollowing out as Buck let go a long, hissing grunt. Chris leaned down on his elbow, eyes riveted, watching that perfect application of lips to flesh that made his dick throb, because this was full on and serious in ways that a hold-the-perfect-camera-angle for a porn flick couldn't be. Vin swallowed down the length of Buck's erection, mouth stretched wide to take it all and throat working convulsively, eyes flicking to Buck's face and then over to Chris's with an overheated look when he licked and blew and teased until Buck's groans were punctuated by curses as he thrust and bucked and quivered.

Chris saw the stretched tight tendons of Buck's neck and the white-knuckled grip that he had on Vin's hair that for all its strength was still more like a caress and more like communication than any need to control what was going on between them. He knew what that touch felt like, how much that touch was giving, and it made him feel a little queasy to see Buck giving it to another so he looked away, up Buck's rippling body. A thin trickle of sweat rolled down from the hollow of Buck's throat, leaving a line like a knife mark against the side of his neck. 

He reached out because he had to, because he wasn't much of a passive participant in bed even when Buck was drilling him through the mattress and he couldn't be one now. Buck though, stiffened when Chris touched him and his fingers tightened so hard in Vin's hair that Vin pulled off his cock. 

"Ow," Vin hissed. 

Buck looked startled, and Chris let out a laugh. "Got lost there, did you pard?" he teased his partner. 

Buck wasn't laughing. "Oh… yeah." His right hand petted an apology into Vin's hair so Chris scooted back a little and patted the mattress so Vin could climb back on the bed between them. 

Buck seemed to have other plans though because he crawled over Vin's body and manhandled Chris further up on the mattress. Chris was prepared when Buck swooped down and claimed his mouth like he was trying to resuscitate him. The bed bounced a little as they got situated, settled, and Chris raised a knee, bracing Buck between his leg and his hands as Buck began to rock and pump against him. This was a dance whose steps he knew, and it was a little bit of relief to have Buck back in his arms. Watching Buck and Vin so eager and silently communing had turned him on as much as it had ticked up the vague anxiety that Chris figured was part and parcel to doing something like this. 

He rolled them onto their sides, Buck's back to Vin's front, thinking to let Vin get back into the action. Vin must have gotten the message, because a second later Buck grunted into his mouth and Buck's legs jerked against Chris's knees. Chris pulled back, ending the kiss with a sloppy wet smack, and looked over Buck's shoulder to where Vin had sidled up behind him. Vin's hand was down between Buck's legs, tickling that strip of skin between balls and ass. Chris tweaked Buck's nipples and hunched back enough to get his hand to Buck's crotch. He carded his fingers through stiff pubic hairs and then further, rolling Buck's heavy balls and feeling his fingers collide with Vin's between his partner's legs. Buck shuddered between them and his knee poked up to give both their hands more room. 

He had to grin when he caught Vin's wide eyes, because Buck looked so drugged or stoned or just happy to be caught between them like this, when really it had been Buck's dumb-ass screwing around that had gotten them all to this place, with none of them complaining so far. Vin's eyes were amused, knowing, and he shook his head slightly as if at some joke, making Chris's chest swell a little and increasing his urge to tighten his hold on the man in the middle. 

"If you two don't stop that," Buck gasped, "I'm gonna come too quick." 

"Too quick?" Vin said, sounding surprised. "Hell, Buck—"

"Too quick," Buck repeated, ornery and joyful. "Someday Vin, I'll teach you the value of having stamina."

"Sure it ain't just old age?" Vin mocked him, and did something with his fingers that had Buck squirming between them. Vin did it again, and Buck jerked forward hard enough to knock Chris onto his back and then climbed over him to get away from Vin, half-squashing him in the process. 

"He's ticklish sometimes," Chris warned when he realized what had happened. "Don't antagonize him because he'll make you pay, I promise you that." 

"Yeah," Buck said, not whining. Okay, maybe whining, but Chris was willing to be generous. 

Vin's insincere "sorry" was ruined by the laughter that bubbled out with it. 

"You are gonna get yours, boy," Buck growled at Vin, then pounced. 

It turned out that Vin wasn't ticklish, or if he was he could control himself better than Buck could. Chris wasn't surprised when Buck opted for a new method of attack. It was easier to watch them this time, though he couldn't say why: all that raw sexual heat was still there, and all that beauty of the two of them together, hard bodies pressing and rubbing against each other. Vin's lips were puffy and wet, from the kissing or the sucking or both, and, tempted, Chris eased over close enough to reach with his hand, turn Vin's chin his way. 

His own arousal hadn't abated, but the roughhousing had banked it a little, enough that he wasn't in danger of losing control. And Vin's kisses were sloppy, his mouth loose and his tongue too eager and Chris wondered again what the hell Buck was doing down there where he couldn't see. 

Buck's chuckle, low and dirty as he swept a leg up and pressed down, drew another moan from Vin that couldn't possibly sound any more needy. "You askin' or offerin'?" Buck said, even though the distinctions were none too clear to Chris's brain. It didn't really matter, he supposed, and he watched as Vin tried to draw his own leg up, but Buck's weight wouldn't let him move. Vin was less trapped than he was teased, and God damn but Chris knew what that felt like. He could understand Vin wanting what Buck had to offer, what he'd been offering to offer.

"Jesus, Buck," Vin breathed out, sounding a little shy and a little angry and just plain sexy to Chris's ears. "Just fuck me." Buck rocked against him and Chris watched Vin's eyes widen, the full mouth fall slack. 

Buck looked around, his eyes a little wild. "Where'd I drop those condoms?" he grunted. "You stay put, Vin, Chris'll get you ready...."

Chris would be happy to get Vin ready, but this wasn't going to go down the way Buck expected. He knew he wasn't prepared to watch Buck fucking another man. Even if Vin wanted it. "I think he's ready enough," he said, lifting his head and looking over his shoulder as he closed a rough strong hand around Vin's dick.

Vin tensed and Chris watched him almost bite through his lip. "I'm right here," he said, sounding a little peeved, and the thin edge of anger made Chris ease off a little. 

"I noticed," Chris said, fixing his eyes on Vin's face, not flickering around looking for Buck. He gave Vin what he could with his look, all the heat in his gut and the warmth he wouldn't hide, the trust he'd kept feeling for this man against too many reasons not to and maybe a little of his own nervousness too. The tightness around Vin's eyes eased somewhat and he lifted his head, so Chris met him, mouths and arms and legs tangling together. These kisses were stronger, more focused now that Buck wasn't driving him to distraction, and sweet. So damned sweet. 

Chris smiled a little when the bed dipped and Buck's knee touched his hip. He eased back to one side, the two of them bracketing Vin, and licked his lips. "Hand it over," he said, extending his palm for the rubber Buck held. 

But Buck frowned and jerked his hand back. "Not on your life. I found it, I get to use it." Technically, nobody had found it, but Chris felt a heated chuckle bubbling up again, and waited to see what his partner would do. 

"Think you're the only one gets to be fucking people tonight, do you?" Chris asked, grinning with the kind of indulgence Buck was all too familiar with. "Greedy, pard." 

They looked at each other, each smiling, then smiling a little more, until the heat rose between them and melted amusement right out of them all. Buck wavered then moved forward, and the easy, casual touches they gave each other at neck, shoulder, chest, belied the effect it had on them; Chris felt his dick jerking and twitching, and Buck's was doing the same. He tugged Buck's head forward into a kiss that Buck surrendered to, accepted with his whole body. He knew Vin was looking up at them, watching the show that was going on right above his belly, and somehow that just made it better. 

Buck could feel the heat of Vin's body bleeding between his and Chris's knees and decided if he wasn't careful he was going to give himself a heart attack. He could guess what had Chris acting so pushy though, and when he drew back and found Chris's eyes so serious and sober, he was certain of it. 

"You sure?" Buck asked. He had plenty of other questions lurking beneath the surface, but he couldn't be bothered with them right now. 

"Unless you're not," Chris responded, and the silence drew out between them. Vin just lay there, stuck staring up their bodies and between their speaking looks; Buck could see his eyes tracking back and forth, and if somebody didn't decide something quick Buck had the feeling Vin would think it was time to find someplace better to be. 

That melted the sobriety right out of him, and he flicked a glance down at Vin. "You're in for a treat, boy," he said smugly, and Vin looked surprised when Buck peeled open the condom wrapper and paid special attention to rolling the latex onto Chris's cock. "Don't look so disappointed, Vin. He might not be as good as me but he's worth it, I promise." 

"Smart ass," Chris said to him, but the words were so soft they were only endearment. Chris dropped heavily beside Vin, and Buck slid his hand around Vin's thigh to urge him onto his side facing Buck. He rolled where their hands guided him and bent his knees, pulled one against his chest to make the way easier for Chris. 

Buck flopped down like a kid in front of him, glad when whatever clouds had been in Vin's eyes cleared and he looked hot and happy again. He pressed his hard cock against Vin and grinned. "But I get to fuck you next time," he joked. 

"I get a say in this?" Vin asked, breathless, trying not to hiss as Chris's spit-wet fingers spread him open a little and pressed at his hole.

Buck's hand slid over his ass, sliding along his crack and easing him further open. "Nope." He grinned at the wry look; Vin wasn't so dumb as to argue. 

He felt it when Chris pressed in, in the slight banging of Vin's knee against him and in the moan as Vin dragged him in for another kiss, tongue stabbing forcefully into his mouth. Buck clenched his own ass cheeks, wondering what that felt like. He never took it without a whole lot of preparation but Chris did on occasion, when the heat was just burning him up inside and he couldn't wait for minor distractions. Buck kind of thought Chris liked a little pain sometimes, and he thought the same of Vin. The rubber was lubricated, though; it would be enough. 

The way Vin's knee was jammed into Buck's stomach was a problem he could solve, so he ran a hand up the inside to lift Vin's leg up and slide it over his side, resting Vin's thigh heavily in the sharp depression above his hipbone. As he slid his hand back up to Vin's ass, Vin's mouth dropped open, and that look wasn't one you could mistake for pain. When the light of intelligence flickered and died out of Vin's pale eyes, he couldn't resist a grin. 

Easing his hand off Vin's butt and down the back of his leg, he drew in a few careful, measured breaths, because feeling Chris's dick slide along his fingertips as it pressed into this new body had shot his temperature off the charts. Vin's calf tensed and relaxed in opposition to each of Chris's thrusts, creating a phenomenal bump-bump, bump-bump, the greater pressure of Vin sliding their cocks together, and the lesser, the echo, that was Chris's groin rocking against Vin's ass. Their chests weren't touching, and the little space between them up top gave Buck a truly spectacular view of Vin. His face looked lost to pleasure, jaw slack and lips shiny, and a light sweat sheened his neck and shoulders. The well-defined pecs Buck had ogled before, but in this intensely sexual moment he was in a whole different world of appreciation. That dip between the muscles was just begging to be licked. 

Buck lifted his head enough to see the action going on back there, and wondered briefly if that was what Chris looked like driving into him, if there was any difference other than the layer of latex, if Chris's pubic hairs tickled the backs of Vin's thighs like they did his. 

The signals his brain bounced back were mixed and overwhelming, some intensely pleasurable and some terrifying: a combination of intimacy and experimentation, familiarity and difference, twinges of jealousy he'd never thought himself capable of because he'd never been in love like he was with Chris and never imagined Chris would go for something like this. "Mine!" and "more!" and "hell yeah!" fought for supremacy, running a parallel track alongside the part that assured him that in the vastness of his sexual experience, this was the pinnacle; it wasn't ever going to get any better than this, and there would never be a better combination of love and lust, kink and intimate joy. He was absolutely certain of that, because he was never going to let someone get this close to Chris again. Vin was the lucky first shopper, the gift and the threat, the challenge and the plaything, and in his own head and heart, Buck had already locked the doors behind him. Nobody else would ever, ever get the privilege of being this close to him and Chris. Not like this. 

Lucky for all of them today that Vin hadn't backed down from that little game in the kitchen. And that Buck hadn't clobbered one of them when he'd reached Vin's bedroom door and seen them in that clinch. Damn, seeing Chris in the arms of another.... He eased back a little and looked for Chris, needing to see and be seen, and his heart stuttered at the intent, shuttered face, the tight jaw and clenched-shut eyes. He knew that look. Chris was into this, oh yeah, and what person in his right mind wouldn't be? He reached because he had to and cupped Chris's cheek, but it didn't have the effect he'd intended; Chris jerked like he'd been slapped, and his eyes popped open, wide and shocked. 

"Wha–" It took a few more thrusts for Chris's pace to break and slow, for that look on his face to fade into something else that felt a lot like longing. Buck didn't know what it meant, or what to do, sexually tongue-tied maybe for the first time in his life. "Aww, Buck," Chris said, a gentle breath of a voice that belied the tension in his body, in Vin's. "Come here." 

But he was pinned beneath Vin's leg and caught a little by the way Vin's body had rolled forward as it accepted Chris's thrusts. He squirmed without really moving, and Vin voiced a wary, "Buck?" 

Buck didn't look at him and wasn't sure why but he didn't, but just kept still as Chris reached over Vin. There was an awkwardness that had never been between them, not even when they were young, as Chris tried to shuffle without pulling out of Vin, as Vin trembled in barely restrained frustration. Too many moving parts, too much raw want and need, and Buck felt bad for the fact that Vin was stuck between them, doing some squirming of his own over whatever was happening that nobody except maybe Chris had a handle on. 

Then, "Damn it, Larabee, give me some room here!" 

Buck would have laughed at Chris's startled look, if he weren't caught up in the prickling discomfort from so many sharp points between emotion and desire. As it was he just lay there, propped up but frozen, as Chris pulled out and rolled a bit away, as Vin glared over his shoulder and then leveled the same look on Buck and ordered, "Get up!" like a drill sergeant. Like all men who had ever served, Buck obeyed without much thought. He rolled onto his hip, following Vin's guiding hands as they directed him up and back until he was sitting on the pillows, back against the headboard. Vin's insistent manhandling stopped as abruptly as it started, and when the man dropped his face to Buck's groin and swallowed half of him down, Buck was reminded of nothing so much as some movie vampire swooping in to feed. 

The message reached his brain and all the tension raced back to his groin where it ought to be at a time like this. 

A sound from Chris broke Buck from his happy paradise, and he looked up. Chris was laughing at him, didn't seem to be having nearly the trouble Buck had a minute ago. Before Buck could do more than frown, Chris crawled up over Vin and kissed him soundly, aggressively, so that their teeth bumped and the back of his skull hit the headboard. 

"Finally gonna get a run for your money, eh, Big Dog?" Chris teased, then licked across Buck's lips. Buck just panted as Vin applied a particularly effective exploratory lick, and Chris's smile broadened. "You mind if I get back to what I was doing now?" he asked, dry and amused, and Buck watched as Chris's hand swept down the smooth curve of Vin's spine.

"No." He swallowed and grinned, touching Chris's cheek before he dropped both hands into the tangled mass of Vin's hair, sweeping it to one side so he could see that wide jaw and stare down with deeply aroused affection at the busily working head. "No, you go right ahead." 

Vin grunted when Chris shoved back in, using the improved leverage of his position to pump deeper, harder, hands squeezing soothingly at Vin's waist and shoulder. Weird as it was, it was sexy as hell to watch Chris at work like this, to see the way his belly tightened and hollowed with each thrust, how Vin's back arched into it and know exactly how that felt. He found himself squeezing his ass cheeks in rhythm, sympathetic pleasure bleeding into his pelvis and further, and damn, that was all right too. 

Buck looked up to watch Chris's face again. Whatever had arrested Buck before was long gone, and Chris looked... damn, he looked beautiful. His mouth hung open for panted breaths and his eyes were still closed, but there was still plenty to see in the tight lines of his brows, in the roll of muscle in his shoulder that undulated all the way down to the thrust of his hips. The view down Vin's back to the shadowed curve where their bodies slapped together made him snap his own hips against the flow so that he and Chris entered Vin at the same time, and pulled back at the same time, completing some kind of circuit between all of them.

He didn't know what distracted Chris, but the hazel eyes opened, tracing some path up the knobs of Vin's spine to Buck's hands and then further up, and by the time their eyes caught and held Chris's whole face was alight with a bright, dirty joy. 

"Buck..." Chris's hand lifted from Vin's hip and reached, palm out, fingers stretched, and Buck grabbed it up. It was the only place they touched in this pretzeled pile of flesh, and it was enough, as their hands took up the rhythm that the rest of their bodies were riding, and something must've shifted because Vin started up a constant moaning around his cock. He was close, damned close, and Buck eased Vin's head back and up to see his face, to watch and learn what orgasm did to him because the first had been so damned quick it had startled all three of them. This one, he could tell Vin felt coming. 

"Ease back," Buck ordered Chris, and they'd done it enough times that Chris knew what that meant. Without changing his pace, he nudged his knees further under Vin, and between them they pulled and pushed him back, upright, spread over Chris's knees and speared on his cock. Buck was tempted, damned tempted, to suck him off. 

Later. Safer. 

All that shit to worry about all over again, so for now he just scooted forward and slid his free hand over that flat, firm belly, down until his fingers encompassed Vin's dick and pulled. Not much. It didn't take much for Vin's eyes to pop open, blind and unseeing, for his mouth to part for a choked-in gulp of air. And then Vin spilled, fingers curled and tight and gripping the air, and his load cleared the small space between them to land on Buck's groin like it was target practice. A hot-and-cold thrill leaked down the length of his cock and he almost came from the picture of Vin's face and the heated, adoring look in Chris's eyes, from that splatter of come on his cock and the way Chris's free hand squeezed Vin's waist. 

Buck did move then, scrambling to kiss Vin, to tweak at nipples and tickle ribs and chase down things that made this body twitch and groan, and to ride the rhythm of Chris's thrusts that still moved through Vin. He pulled back, cupping Vin's face, intently absorbing the pleasure and the intent, masculine beauty he saw there, until Vin's eyes opened and he glared, still panting, "Well, somebody come besides me!"

That got Buck to laughing, breathless, more than happy to oblige but uninterested in getting there on his own. Chris though, Chris's hips stilled completely and then it was his face Buck was looking at.

Like church, or glory, Chris's face was so—Buck was no poet; he didn't have words and didn't much care, just glad to be here to see it, not so close to his own orgasm that he couldn't appreciate what he watched with a lover's knowledge and a man's aching hunger. Chris was right on the edge, tendons in his jaw standing out where he gritted his teeth to keep from spilling. "Chris," he breathed, soft as a sigh, and Chris's eyes opened and speared him right to his soul. The hard, tight tension eased, and soon enough Chris pulled out of Vin's ass, slick and noisy and redolent of fucking. 

"You next," Chris grunted, his voice tight and urgent as he peeled off the rubber. 

Not that it was Buck's first choice, generally, but today he welcomed it, wanted it, wanted that feeling his partner had just given Vin. 

Vin crumpled into a boneless heap between them, easy to shove over to one side so they could make room for the next round of whatever this was between them. Buck scrambled down the bed, spreading his knees wide and sharing his partner's urgency. This—this whole thing was friendly and hot and so spicy he knew he'd want to write letters to Penthouse, or whoever you wrote when you were into the guy-on-guys thing. Hesitation tightened his muscles, though; he couldn't describe or define it, he just knew that the way Chris had pounded Vin made his own blood run hot and cold, but the hot was so fucking hot he didn't care much about the cold part. Chris though, Chris's whole style changed, and the heated fuck machine that had laid into Vin disappeared. Buck could see it in Chris's eyes and feel it in the way Chris's hands stroked his legs, tender and soothing, and Buck thought again on how fucking great it was to have a partner who knew you backwards and forwards, inside and out. 

"Gotta get something for you, lover," Chris murmured, and Buck watched him ease off the bed and head for the bathroom, heard ransacking as bottles rolled and rattled and fell to the floor. Seconds later Chris trotted back in, dick bouncing like a metronome as he brandished the jar of petroleum jelly Vin had borrowed to rub into his scar. 

Chris's coated fingers pushed into him, slick and cool, and Buck opened to that pressure, hungry for it. Two fingers, three, then four, stretching him so wide he ached with near-pain and didn't give a damn. Then Chris's fingers pulled out of him and Buck groaned at the loss, then groaned again as Chris's cock filled the void in his ass. The burn was harsh and good, so Buck bore down to make it both better and worse, grinning when Chris's face contorted into that look of ecstasy he loved so much. 

Chris sucked in a breath to center himself, feeling his own tight muscles and the coolness of sweat that had broken out on his skin. He paid close attention to every tremor in his lover's body. He was just barely holding on, his balls aching and his dick as hard as iron, but he held still anyway, watching as Buck's belly tightened along with his face, as Buck rode the pain alongside the pleasure until his ass adjusted and made room for Chris's dick in it. When Buck tightened around him, he had to clutch at the bedcovers not to spill right then. 

He set the rhythm, heart pounding as Buck just rode with it, shoving up when Chris pressed in, moaning long and loud when Chris gripped his erection and just held on, both of them perfectly in synch until he pushed Buck past the edge and Buck spilled between them, his thick cock jerking and spitting all over his belly and chest. The tight constrictions of his ass were more than Chris could take and his orgasm hit him like electric shock, sizzling out of him and into Buck. His come eased the way further for the last few thrusts even as Chris grinned, feral, satisfied and smug that he could turn Buck Wilmington into this puddle of pleasure. He tumbled down to the side of the bed that put Buck in the middle again, where he just knew Buck would love to be. 

"Bed ain't gonna be fit to sleep in," Buck laughed without explaining why that was funny, but Vin seemed to understand it too; he was chuckling and rubbing along Buck's flank, the tips of his fingers tracing a ticklish line along the long the length of Buck's hip and thigh, if Buck's sluggish wriggle meant anything.

"Good thing we've got another one," Chris said, and that got Vin laughing too, just a chuckle at first but then the rumble of laughter from his belly that rose and twitched and spasmed through him until he let it loose. It wasn't that funny, but the three of them laughing made the bed shake and jiggle and that made them laugh harder, for a time. Buck didn't seem inclined to move and Chris's arm ended up draped somewhere across Buck's side, fingers mashed lightly between Vin's hip and Buck's.

"This as crazy to you two as it is to me?" Vin asked them after a while. 

"Definitely," Chris said. Buck just grunted and they all floated along as their heart rates settled to something like normal. But Vin seemed chatty, which Chris would never have predicted. He'd have guessed it was nerves, except he'd seen Vin nervous and if anything, he got quieter. Maybe Vin was just that comfortable, and it worried Chris a little. 

"This was… damn, it's been too long," he said, lazy and sated. 

"You sure don't get out much, do you?" Buck asked him. 

Vin shook his head. "Not for this, not with—" he flushed and cut himself off, and Chris shot a look at Buck. 

But Buck wasn't willing to leave it alone. He reached out a hand and spread his fingers wide over Vin's belly, soothing soft and easy. "Know what you mean. It's different, when you're with people you love." 

"Buck," Chris started, but he couldn't think of anything to add. Buck had already led Vin on too much, but from the way Vin blinked his eyes open and looked up at Buck, Chris thought maybe Vin understood. 

"You two… you're so good together," he said earnestly. "I could tell it, could see it in how you two move, how you know each other so good." He grinned then, and his hand covered Buck's on his belly. "You got me all weak in the knees." 

"Better than just hearing, isn't it?" Buck asked, his hand still sliding on Vin's belly, and Vin chuckled. 

"Oh, yeah." 

"I gotta say, Vin, I liked watching you too," Buck said. "You and Chris were a sight when you got going." 

Vin's flush returned, but he didn't seem uncomfortable with it this time. "Guess I know my way around," he said on a grin. 

"You sure do. I liked you watching us, maybe more." 

Vin's eyebrows rose, but Chris wasn't surprised. He knew just what kind of man he'd committed himself to and he'd seen it on Buck's face, felt it in his performance. 

Vin looked past Buck to Chris, and nodded. "You've got yourself somethin' special here," he said, then laughed, low and dirty. "He's got somethin' to brag about all right. And when you were fucking him, Chris, damn…." 

Chris would have tried to shut him up but between them, Buck was practically preening. Chris wasn't going to take that away from him, not when it was so fundamentally true. It embarrassed him a little, knowing what Vin had seen, knowing it was more than just sex that Vin had seen and a little shocked with himself that he had let go so much, had let somebody see that. But Vin Tanner wasn't just anybody, and it seemed like he had admitted that to himself. 

He'd thought Vin was done, but then Vin picked up where he'd left off, his voice low and smoky with remembered pleasure. "You've got a real nice ass, Chris, you don't mind my saying," he said, "and the fact that you could fuck Buck like that… knew just what he needed." Chris squirmed a little and bit the inside of his cheek to keep from grumbling. He wasn't Buck. He wasn't into the dirty talk after sex, and neither one of them was much for reviewing what they'd gotten up to. But it seemed to settle Vin, to be able to talk about it. "Well," Vin was saying, "it was something to see." 

"Yeah," Buck said sleepily, "Chris is something, all right." 

He was probably blushing to his hairline from the combination of Vin's recap and the emotion in Buck's voice, so he dropped his head back down to the bed and hid it in Buck's shoulder. He felt Buck's inhaled breath before the words, then Buck said, "I'm real sorry I scared you like I did, Vin, but… it turned out all right, didn’t it? " 

Vin's voice, when he answered, was distant, maybe with tiredness or maybe with something else. "There's just some moments in your life that you play for what they are," he said quietly. "This was one of 'em." 

They all slept for a while then, because like it or not they weren't seventeen anymore. Chris woke first and stared over the naked bodies of his lover and their friend. He wanted to think "suspect" or "surety", but you fuck somebody like he had today, they'd better be a friend. 

He was far too satisfied to give a shit what they looked like, even though they looked like… they looked like they'd fucked all afternoon, spunk spattered in places it should never manage to be. JD would be up soon though, and God knew that while they'd all been whited-out with pleasure a whole damned army could have overtaken the house and they wouldn't have noticed or cared. 

There was nothing to be done about it now. He eased out of bed, leaving the pair of them to sleep it off. Finding his pants was a challenge since they'd thrown everything everywhere, but eventually he had his jeans on, and his tee shirt, and padded barefoot into the living room where Ezra sat reading the Wall Street Journal. 

"I cannot believe what perverts you are," he said.

So much for secrecy. "Don't mention it to the kid," Chris told him. 

"What? That our bosses decided to have a lurid romp with the suspect?" 

Chris grimaced. "Just don't say anything."

"JD will figure it out," Ezra surmised. "He's a smart young man."

"Then let him, but on his own time. There anything to eat?"

"Check the refrigerator. And please God, take a shower first," Ezra said, his nose wrinkling up in distaste.

Chris couldn't care. He just ransacked the refrigerator, pulling out deli ham, cheese, lettuce and mustard, found bread on the counter. He made a sandwich for himself and another for Buck, eating his own before wandering back to that reeking bedroom. Like clockwork, Buck was just beginning to stir, and wolfed down his sandwich with a glee that rivaled all the fucking. 

"You okay?" Chris asked, because he had to. 

Buck smiled, showing teeth and not a little food. "Long as you are, darlin'." 

Chris scowled. "Don't call me that." 

Buck grinned. He shrugged a shoulder and swallowed before continuing. "Can't say I ever expected something like this, not with us," he said, and Chris half-nodded, "but it was good. And I'm good. You?"

Chris reached out and Buck grabbed up his hand, lacing their fingers together. "I'm good." He looked into Buck's sleepy, satisfied eyes. "We're good." 

"You're both good," Vin growled, his voice distorted from where his mouth was mashed up against the pillow, "now can you shut up?"

That got Buck to laughing again, but Chris leaned over him and shook Vin's shoulder. "Vin?" 

Vin raised his head up enough to turn sleepy, grumpy eyes on him. They cleared a little—a very little–and Vin let out a sigh. Neither of them said anything, but something wordless passed between them and Chris nodded. Vin dropped his head back to the pillow. "You want to let me get some sleep now?" he grumped. 

"Kids need their naps," Buck said sagely, and chortled. 

Chris hustled Buck out of bed after that and they slipped out into the hall to let Vin sleep in peace. He put a hand to Buck's chest to stop him walking on down the hall. "Ezra knows," he warned. 

Buck shrugged. "So?" 

"Just letting you know." 

Buck pressed him back to the wall and wrapped long arms around him, holding him tight. "He tries to give us shit about it, I'll offer to give him the play by play." 

Chris shuddered at the very idea. "Don't—just don't," he sighed into Buck's shoulder. Buck's sweaty, sex-smelling shoulder. "We need a shower." 

The sweetness of the hug shifted as Buck bent his knees to press their groins together. He was half-hard, probably pumped up from all the exertion. "We could shower." 

Chris thumped at his shoulder blade and pushed him back a step. "Don't you ever quit?" he groused, glaring when Buck smiled unrepentantly. 

"That's a joke, right?" 

Chris caught himself smiling back. Maybe it was. 

A couple of hours later though, nothing was funny. Ezra was keeping his mouth shut so far, which didn't surprise Chris overmuch, but the snide looks he threw like rice at a wedding got old fast. Buck was feeling his oats, bouncing around and laughing and acting so stupidly happy he was grating on Chris's last nerve. By the time they were all stuffed around the table for the Chinese takeout Josiah had brought in with him, Chris thought he was going to go postal in the very near future. Ezra would be the first victim. Buck might well be the second. 

When Vin finally came out of his room freshly showered, his hair still dark with water, Chris knew immediately why he hadn't shaved. The thick stubble growing in did a little to hide the beard burn on his cheeks and chin, and he walked a little warily, like he was sore or guilty. Possibly both. Mentally, Chris moved him up to second place on his list of targets. 

When Buck got quiet and conciliatory, getting up to give Vin the chair he'd scored and sliding into the bench seat next to Josiah, Chris moved Vin up to first, ahead of Ezra. 

JD kept sneaking looks between Vin and Buck, back and forth, his face getting darker and darker as suspicion dawned. Shit. If JD was figuring it out this quick, surely the rest of the guys knew… something. The way JD kept staring between Vin and Buck, Chris knew he was off the hook at least temporarily, and he didn't do anything to change that. This was mostly Buck's fault anyway, if he twisted the events around in his head enough. The room grew ominously quiet. After two minutes of Ezra's fake chipper conversational gambits, Chris picked up his plate and left. 

Buck followed him outside a few minutes later, but Chris wasn't in the mood so he took off for the far side of the yard where the hammock hung between the pecan trees. Apparently Buck wasn't willing to be ignored, because Buck followed him. 

"This how it's gonna be?" he asked, sounding resigned. "It's my fault now?"

"It is your fault," Chris said. "You were the one who couldn't keep your hands off him, you're the one who started this—"

"Yeah," Buck interrupted, "I'm the one had him in a fucking clinch in his bedroom, that was all my idea. You know what I thought when I saw you two?"

Chris went hot and cold. He knew what he would have felt. "Then why didn't you stop it?"

"Because none of us–none of us wanted to stop it. And if you can't admit that at least to me, then you're a coward, Chris Larabee." Chris drew back to take a swing at him, shocked by his reaction but Buck had been expecting it and piled into him, grabbing him around the waist and tackling him to the ground. "You were there too," Buck said, chin hard on Chris's shoulder. "So stop acting like the fucking victim." 

He wasn't. Damn it, he wasn't.

Maybe he was. 

Lying there on the ground, pinned by Buck unless he really wanted to fight him—and he didn't—he just breathed in ragged breaths and stared up at the dark green canopy of the pecan trees. It took a while to calm down and see reason. He'd been there too. He'd played his own part, a damned big one, in making this happen. 

"You liked it," Buck whispered, sensing a victory, Chris knew. "And so did I." 

After a minute he said, "Fine, I liked it, now get off me."

"You gonna try to take a swing at me again?"

Chris sighed, and finally lifted his hands off the grass. He slid them to Buck's waist and then around it, holding him. "Nah." 

Buck settled against him more comfortably, shifting his legs so that one slid between Chris's, and he pushed up with his hands in the grass. "Feel better?" Buck asked, wary good humor slipping onto his face. 

Chris grimaced, but he didn't let go. "I wouldn't go that far." 

"Want to sleep it off in the hammock? I doubt anybody's gonna bother us, the way you were acting in there." 

Chris craned his neck back until he could just see a corner of it. "Might be a good idea."

Buck chuckled, and smiled down at him. "Hide out for a bit?"

Chris frowned. "Hell yes." 

Buck rolled off him then and offered a hand up, holding onto it until they were situated comfortably in the hammock. Dusk eased in, and night birds started stirring up the air, and neither of them moved more than it took to fend off the odd mosquito. 

"You know," Buck said after a while, "we abandoned Vin to the wolves in there." 

"He'll be all right." 

"You sure?" Buck asked, and he sounded sincerely concerned. 

Chris tilted his head back until he could look at his partner. "He can take care of himself," he assured, believing it. Then he grinned. "He took care of us well enough, didn't he?" 

Buck chortled, low and dirty. "I'll say. Wouldn't mind trying that again sometime…." 

Chris felt the same way, but he didn't say anything. Buck didn't need that kind of encouragement, and the whole idea made him uncomfortable, even more knowing that Ezra knew, that the rest of them suspected something. Suspected Buck, he thought with a private little grin. He was the good guy here, the wounded husband. He snorted. Buck made an interrogative noise, but Chris just shook his head. It was full dark, the odd star peeking between the leaves of the old trees, when he finally said, "We'd best go on in and face the fallout." 

"There's not gonna be any fallout, Chris," Buck yawned, overconfident and probably wrong. 

"Not for me. Did you see JD's face in there? He thinks you're the bad guy." 

"You can set him straight." Buck sounded all too satisfied with that idea. 

"The hell I will." He rubbed Buck's belly, heard the "oof" as he pushed up to roll out of the hammock. "In that house, partner, it's every man for himself." 

Not two minutes after they went back inside, Buck realized that Chris was completely serious. They'd made it as far as the kitchen, which was empty—the sound of CNN spilled out of the living room, so Buck figured everybody was gathered in there. He and Chris had just opened up the leftover Chinese containers and started on their second helpings when Josiah joined them, and leaned against the refrigerator. 

"It's not my business," he started, which made Buck laugh a little. He couldn't help it, because it always amused him when somebody opened with a line like that. "It's not my business, but I'm just wondering if there's anything we should talk about."

"Like what, Josiah?" Buck asked, feeling the grin on his face. 

"You tell me." 

Buck shrugged. "Can't think of anything." 

"Chris?" Josiah prodded. 

"Nope." 

Buck's grin widened. 

"Then you mind telling me why you tried to throw a punch at your partner outside?" the big man challenged him. "We all saw it." 

"Josiah," Chris said, sounding relatively calm to Buck's ears, "I don't have to explain myself to you. What Buck does is his business and mine, and it's sure as hell not yours." 

"Fair enough," Josiah said, taking that in. Josiah watched Chris for a second, a frown worrying at his face while Buck picked up the box Chris had abandoned to finish it off. Looked like he'd eaten all the scallops out of it, but the rest of it would still be good. 

"Don't worry so much, Josiah," Buck tried. "Everything's fine."

"All right," Josiah said, clearly reserving judgment. "Might want to make sure Vin knows that. I reckon he's feeling a little guilty for stirring up trouble." 

"I'll talk to him," Buck promised him, realizing that maybe one of them ought to. Just to be sure. Josiah nodded, pushed off the refrigerator and left. Buck watched him head up the hall and disappear into the living room.

"What I do is your business?" he asked Chris quietly, throwing him a reproving look. "Funny, I remember you there too." 

"Well," Chris said easily and grinned, "what I do is my business too." 

"You couldn't have said that?" 

"What?" Chris feigned surprise. "When you're already set to take the fall for this?" Buck shook his head, annoyed and awed, while Chris just kept grinning. 

They were just finishing the last of the food when Ezra marched in. "I hope you're proud of yourselves," he said. 

"Not particularly," Chris said around a mouthful of lo mien. 

"Half the team was watching you two in the back yard, you know." Buck chuckled, amused that the numbers had already fallen from "everybody" to "half the team" just between Josiah and Ezra. By the time Nathan strolled in, nobody would know they'd even left the kitchen. 

"So?" 

Ezra rolled his eyes and turned on Buck. "Well somebody needs to take JD aside. He's now of the opinion that your guest is a home wrecker." 

Buck laughed, genuinely amused—and a little relieved it wasn't him that JD was pissed at. "Really?"

"Yes, really," Ezra replied, dry. "He's ready to defend your honor, Chris—as if you had any." 

"Ezra," Chris said, low, "you need to watch your mouth. I'm getting fed up with your bullshit." 

"Just as I am fed up with yours," Ezra sneered, but he left before he could rile Chris anymore.

Buck, still leaning against the counter, tipped up the carton and shoveled the last of the Mongolian beef into his mouth. "Guess I ought to talk to JD," he said. "You want to check on Vin?"

"Not really." Chris grinned. "This is your mess, remember?" 

Buck thought about it while he collected empty containers and flattened them into the overflowing trash can; seven men sure could make a hell of a mess. It was probably better that the guys only suspected him. Easier to explain, anyway. "All right, I'll look in on both of 'em. You want to go hide in the bedroom?"

"Pard," Chris grinned and stood up, walking straight forward until the toes of his shoes tapped Buck's, "you read my mind." 

"Chicken," Buck accused, pulling his head back so he could keep his eyes focused on Chris's face. 

"Strategic thinker," Chris shot back, and while Buck was surprised when Chris slipped warm hands around his waist and into the back of his jeans, he didn't show it. 

"I like what you're thinking now," he said, holding Chris right back. "Come here." He bent his knees a little so Chris wouldn't have to reach up for his mouth, and settled in for some sweet petting by the sink. Chris was lazy and slow, relaxed enough against him that Buck figured he wouldn't be getting any tonight, but his tongue kept lazily diving into Buck's mouth and you could never tell—

"So you guys are okay then?" JD stood in the doorway, listing heavily to one side. 

Chris jerked away so fast he must have sprained something. "Are you all waiting in a goddamned line out there?" he demanded. 

JD looked confused. "Huh?" 

"JD," Buck said, annoyed himself by the interruption, "Josiah and Ezra have already been in to check up on us. We're good." 

"Well…." JD scowled at Buck. "What were you thinking, anyway?" he groused. "I mean, I thought you were mostly talk, but can you really not keep it in your pants?" 

"JD!" Chris called him down. "It's not your problem. Do us both a favor and don't think about it." 

"Easy for you to say," he grumbled. "Ezra was being all," he lowered his voice, "nice to Vin at dinner. It was creepy." 

"Why aren't you in bed, boy?" Buck asked him. 

"I was. I just came out to take a leak, and saw you two in here." He looked between the two of them, the usual intelligence in his eyes dulled by his pain meds. "You sure you're okay? Really?"

"Didn't we look okay?" Chris said pointedly, and slid his hand back around Buck's waist. Buck was right proud of him, for that. 

JD nodded sleepily. "Yeah. All right. Just… don't hurt Vin, Buck. I think he's lonely." 

Buck shot Chris a look, expecting to see the same surprise on Chris's face that he was feeling himself. But Chris just looked pensive, like he'd suspected all along. "He say something?" Buck asked. 

"No." JD yawned. "But think about it; why else would he risk gettin' on Chris's bad side?" 

"This is not up for discussion, JD," Chris said. "Go back to bed." 

"Yeah, okay. 'Night." 

Buck watched until JD was out of sight and he heard the bedroom door shut. Then he turned back to Chris and slid his arms around him. "That's one down. Now where were we?" 

Chris slid his palm down over Buck's ass and between his thighs, goosing him a little. "Somewhere around here, I think." He leaned up for another kiss, not so lazy this time. "Go check on Vin, I'll be in bed." Buck grinned and watched his partner saunter out of the kitchen. Damned if that man wasn't full of surprises today.

Buck turned off the kitchen light and slinked up the hall, quiet as he passed the living room where yep, Ezra, Nathan, and Josiah were all glued to the news. Vin's door was closed, but when he tested the knob he found it unlocked. He tapped a couple of times before opening it. "Vin?" he called. "Kind of early to turn in, isn't it?" 

Vin had just been lying atop the newly made bed, his shirt off and his feet bare but his jeans were still on. He'd obviously changed the sheets and chased down the discarded rubbers because the room looked spic and span. All the windows were open too, giving it a lush, damp feeling. Summer was definitely coming. "Wasn't in bed. Well," he stretched long, "wasn't sleeping." 

After a brief hesitation Buck snicked the door shut behind him and stepped up to the edge of the bed. Vin looked damned relaxed, a hell of a lot better than he'd looked at the dinner table. Relaxed in that kind of boneless way that made Buck wonder what he'd been doing to get that way. Still, the door hadn't been locked…. "Just wanted to check on you," he said. 

"I'm all right," Vin said, raising his eyebrows as he looked toward the closed door. "You got somethin' needs sayin', Buck?"

"Not really." He sat down on the edge of the bed and grinned. "Thanks, maybe." 

Vin chuckled at that, the sound sly and sexy. "I think I ought to be thankin' you two. I'll tell ya Buck, I didn't see that comin'." 

"Me neither. But damn, that was good."

"Yeah," Vin said, sleepy and soft, "it was." 

"So whatcha been doin' in here all by yourself?" he asked. 

And damned if Vin didn't blush a little! But all he said was, "Nothing. Get your mind out of the gutter."

"It's not in the gutter." He put his hand on Vin's knee. "It's right here with you." 

Vin frowned at him, but didn't move his leg. "Don't you get enough with one good man and a threesome on the side?"

"You'd think so, huh?" he teased. Then he bent forward, watching Vin for signs he didn't want it, but Vin just watched him, a little smile playing about his lips, so Buck closed the distance and kissed him. It was as good as he remembered, soft and dark and rich, and he pulled away before he could let his hand trail on up Vin's thigh and start something he wouldn't be willing to finish. With him and Chris in here today, it had been great. But he didn't think Chris would be too happy about him getting up to more than a little harmless—or, okay, not so harmless—flirting with Vin all by his lonesome. So he just licked at his lips and sighed a happy little sound. "There you go. Somethin' else for you to think on." 

"Like I needed anything else," Vin groused, but his cock had thickened, a proud outline under his jeans. "Get out of here." 

"I'm going, I'm going." He turned at the door though, and met Vin's eyes. "You're something special, Vin." 

"Yeah, well, you too," Vin said, looking a little embarrassed. "Night, Buck." 

Buck managed to slip past the living room without getting dragged in, even though Ezra saw him, and made it to their bedroom without incident. Chris was already under the covers, his clothes thrown over the chair in the corner of the room. "Vin all right?" Chris asked. 

"Better than that," Buck replied. 

"Told you so," Chris said. 

Buck put one knee on the bed and leaned over his lover, still a little surprised that Chris was in the mood after that romp this afternoon. Maybe it was because of that romp…. Buck thanked his lucky stars for whatever had gotten into Chris, and into him too, he knew.

"You lookin' to get some of your own back?" Chris asked him, studying his face in the lamplight. 

It took a second to realize what Chris meant, what he was offering. "I guess I am," he said, watching his partner's face. That face was so expressive sometimes, and so handsome to him all the time—exhausted, pissed off, hung-over. And now, relaxed and open and saying the things Chris didn't say with words too often. 

Chris pushed him away and threw back the covers, gloriously naked and already erect, motivating Buck to strip in record time. But once he got into bed and pressed his partner into the mattress, they slowed way down. He teased Chris, nibbling and sucking, rubbing their bodies together, and he let himself be teased in return. When Chris finally spread his legs wide Buck reached for the lube in the bedside drawer, but Chris grabbed his wrist. 

"Already took care of it," he said, and that was just—Buck held his cock to aim it and rubbed it up and down Chris's crack, feeling the slick right where it needed to be. He thrust into him, harder and quicker than he usually would, not quite able to control himself at the thought that Chris had gotten himself ready for him while he was with Vin. Chris was tight, hot, his body clenching around Buck's cock. "So," he ventured, more horny than curious, "how was it, doing him?" He thrust a little deeper, sinking himself half inside his partner. 

Chris blinked, hesitating, and Buck pushed in further. 

"You worried he was better than you?" Chris asked him, his voice teasing. 

Buck hadn't been, not until Chris said that. He thrust again, sinking all the way home. "Asshole," he muttered. Chris just grinned and wrapped his legs around Buck's waist. 

Buck fucked him slow, and even though his eyes were locked with Chris's he couldn't help but think of some of the highlights of the afternoon. Chris stared up at him, hands and thighs clutching him at shoulder and waist to the rhythm their bodies made, his cock rubbing hot and smooth against Buck's belly, his mouth open and panting lightly, rarely even blinking, but something about his face made Buck wonder if Chris was thinking about Vin too. 

He didn't ask. He didn't much care, not when Chris looked at him like that, eyes wide and showing Buck everything, the pleasure that every thrust inside him gave and all the feelings that rode along with them. "You gonna be quiet tonight?" Buck whispered. "Or are we gonna have Ezra pounding on the door again?"

"I'm…" Chris licked his lips. "I'm good so far." 

"You're always good, Chris," Buck breathed, and swiveled his hips a little to force a pleasured grunt out of him. 

Chris sucked on his bottom lip. "You too." 

And if they made a little noise toward the end, well, Ezra knew better than to bother them this time.

[Index] [Previous] [Next] 

The Magnificent Seven and it characters @ MGM, the Trilogy Entertainment Group, the Mirisch Corporation and TNN, and was developed by John Watson and others.


	10. Skip Trace - What Counts As A Win: Chapter 10

SKIP TRACE: WHAT COUNTS AS A WIN  
By Charlotte C. Hill and Maygra 

Universe: Skip Trace 

Acknowledgements: Many thanks to Megan for morale and editorial support, as well as a few scenes .

Pairing/Characters: C/B, Vin, Ezra, cameos by the Nathan, Josiah & JD

Rating: NC17 (We mean, seriously...look who's writing this thing!)

Story Notes: With thanks to Megan and Maygra for getting this novel series started, and special thanks to Megan and Fara, BMP and Mardi for encouraging me to see it through. Their editing and moral support has been invaluable.

Feedback: yes, please, any kind, on or off list to charlottechill@yahoo.com and maygra@gmail.com. 

Tuesday, June 5

Chris woke up before dawn again, early enough that he had to feel around the room for yesterday's clothes. When he got to the kitchen, he started coffee in the dark, mindful that Josiah was sleeping in the living room, turned off the motion sensor lights before he slipped onto the deck, and found Vin asleep there. 

He made to turn and go back inside, but Vin lifted his head off his makeshift pallet. "I'm awake," he whispered. 

"What are you doing outside?" 

"Ezra was scared for his virtue, " Vin said, not sounding bothered by it. 

"Ezra doesn't have any virtues," Chris replied, and grinned. 

"Won't argue that. There anymore coffee?" he asked, sniffing like a hound dog. 

"I'll fetch you a cup." He did, adding sugar and cream and, remembering, more sugar and cream, using the light from the refrigerator to judge his measures. When he got back outside Vin was sitting on top of the comforter in his briefs, hugging his knees up against his chest. 

"Chilly out this morning," Vin said quietly, and then "Thanks" when Chris handed him his cup. 

Vin sucked about half of it down in one go, then crossed his legs Indian-style and patted the pallet beside him. "Have a seat, if you want." 

Chris didn't, not really, but he sat anyway, feeling the ache in his ass from last night. Nice. It was still dark enough that he could watch the last of the fading stars while he worked on his coffee. 

"You always get up so early?" Vin asked him. 

"No. Just, went to bed so early I'm slept out." 

"Yeah." Vin sighed and they lapsed back into silence. 

Vin went in to fetch their second cups, and when he got back he handed them down to Chris. "My pants are around here somewhere," he said. Chris watched him fumble beside the door where the house's eaves would have protected them a little from morning dew, and turned back to look out over the field when Vin found them. Vin dropped back beside him a minute later. "Buck still in bed?" 

"Yeah." 

Vin chuckled low. "Guess we wore him out." 

Chris debated admitting that they'd made love last night, but because that's what it had been, making love, he held his tongue. Or maybe because he'd been thinking of Vin a little, and was pretty sure Buck had too. "Guess we did," he said. 

Vin didn't say anything more so they just sat there, Chris feeling the caffeine and a restless energy riding through his veins that made him want to go for a run. Not today, though. He wasn't going to let Buck out on the road until they'd settled this. "You got your shoes out here?"

"Yeah," Vin said. 

"Want to go for a walk?"

"Sure." Vin pushed up and Chris headed for the mudroom to grab a pair of work boots. He debated fetching his gun, then did it, walking softly so as not to wake Buck. Then he and Vin stepped off the porch. It was light enough now that the stars had all faded, so he set a path across the yard and into the pasture beyond, where tall grass slapped at his jeans and made them wet from the knee down. Vin had to steer him clear of motion sensors a couple of times, but they made it back to the house after sunup without setting off any of the alarms. 

Josiah was in the kitchen, reading yesterday's newspaper. "Mornin'," he said, barely glancing up at them. 

"Morning, Josiah," Vin replied. Chris just nodded. 

"Reckon it's time for breakfast," Chris offered. "Anybody else up?" 

"Ezra wandered in a few minutes ago. Finished the coffee. I think he took it back to his room." 

The blankets on the deck had been folded up and stacked on a kitchen chair, but if Josiah had done it he didn't say anything. "Vin?" Chris asked. "Eggs?" 

"Sure." Vin pulled out breakfast fixings then started a new pot of coffee while Chris set the griddle across two burners—it was the only thing big enough to cook for this crowd on. They put canned biscuits in the oven and bacon on to fry, and Buck strolled in just as Chris was cracking eggs into a bowl. 

"Mmm, smells good," Buck said, wrapping his arms around Chris from behind. The way he nuzzled into the hair at Chris's nape, Chris was pretty sure he wasn't talking about the bacon. He turned his head for a quick kiss, tasted toothpaste and mint mouthwash. 

"Go roust everybody," he ordered. "And put some clothes on." Buck, being Buck, had come out in a pair of boxers that did nothing to hide his morning wood. For the most part Buck had been careful with all the company around, dragging on jeans or sweatpants when he got up, but Chris had the feeling the guy was just too damned satisfied with himself to care today. 

He watched him walk out, grinning as Buck scratched absently at his butt and Vin tried to look anywhere in the room but Buck, and set the big skillet on for the scramble. By the time he was finished, Vin had dealt paper plates around the table and even Ezra came in, wrapped tightly in a silk bathrobe of all things. Fake silk probably, Chris thought uncharitably. So much about Ezra Standish was just for show. 

"We're going to need to track down some clients today," Ezra said without preamble. "With JD out and you two not working, we've fallen behind." 

"I'll come in today," Buck offered. "Help out a little." 

"Oh, would you?" Ezra said, snide as ever, then dug into his breakfast. 

Buck ate fast and disappeared while Chris finished cooking, ate last, and helped Josiah clean up. After they'd thrown away the plates and set the pans to soaking, Chris tracked Buck down in their bathroom. The shower was running so he opened the door a crack and looked in, surprised to see Buck leaning against the wall and jerking off. Water slicked him all over and he stood tall, eyes closed, head resting back against the tiles. He'd soaped his hands, Chris could tell from the lather in his groin hair and the way his hand slid so easily. And fast; he was down to the wire. "Don't you think you're gonna wear it out?" he asked, grinning when Buck's eyes popped open. He grinned wider when Buck just smiled at him and kept moving his hand. 

"It's healthier when properly exercised," he joked, panting a little. Chris just leaned there and watched, knowing Buck liked being watched, even felt a little thrill as Buck finished himself off. It didn't take long, probably because he had an audience, before Buck spilled, come shooting up and mixing into the shower water that streamed down on him. "Mmm," Buck sighed, his hand slowing down. He let go after one last, satisfied squeeze. 

"Slut," Chris chided him affectionately. 

"Guilty as charged." Buck turned into the shower stream and ducked his head under, then started lathering up his hair. Chris wondered what Buck had been thinking that got him going this morning, wondered if he'd been thinking anything at all. Probably remembering pieces of last night. Or yesterday afternoon. "What do you need?" Buck asked him, jarring him out of his reverie. 

"I want you to stay in Orrin's office today. Let Ezra and Josiah track down the skips." 

"You worried about me?" Buck asked, his arms up to scrub shampoo through his hair. Chris eyed his partner, the way the broad shoulders moved and the muscles dense and pronounced beneath tanned skin. 

"Yeah," he admitted. "So don't give me cause to worry more. Okay?"

Buck rinsed his hair and turned around, stepping up to the shower door. Water droplets spattered out onto Chris's arms and tee shirt. "I'll call you when I get there." Buck leaned down and Chris tilted his head up, accepted the sweet, close-mouthed kiss. Buck's wet mustache tickled his mouth. 

"Thanks. And Buck?" He hesitated before saying, "Check under your car before you start it up to come home." 

Buck's face went soft and tender, and he nodded somberly. "I will." 

He left Buck to shower and shave in peace and wandered back out into the house. JD was up and alone in the kitchen, eating the breakfast Chris had set aside for him. "Hey kid, how're you feeling?" he asked, and eyed the coffee pot. It was low, and Mel would be up sometime soon. He dumped the dregs and started a new pot. 

"Not horrible." It had been a week now. JD was probably well enough that he could stop crunching down his big pink pain pills, not that he seemed to agree. The prescription bottle sat by his empty milk glass. 

"What some more?" Chris asked, turning to the fridge and holding up the gallon jug. 

"Yeah, thanks. You know, I haven't eaten breakfasts this good since my mom died." 

Chris had forgotten she was dead. Buck wouldn't have. It made him uncomfortable that the kid missed good breakfasts; he cleared his throat and filled the glass to the rim. "Well, enjoy it while it lasts. This mess can't go on forever." 

JD shuddered. "I don't want it to." He rolled his right shoulder, tentative. "I have a check up today. You think Buck would give me a ride in?"

"He's going to work. I'll take you, or Vin will." 

JD frowned. "You mind doing it?" 

Chris sighed, watching the coffee drip into the pot. "You don't have any reason to be mad at Vin, JD." 

"But he…." he trailed off, chewing thoughtfully. "I never thought you were the kind of guy to put up with stuff like that, Chris. I mean, Buck did fuck him, right?" 

Chris winced. "Not exactly. And the subject isn't up for discussion." 

"But…." 

"But nothing. I'll take you in. When's your appointment?" he asked, shifting the subject a little too forcefully if the look on JD's face was anything to go by. 

"Noon." 

A door in the house rattled and then Buck ambled in, dressed in blue jeans and a bright blue button-down shirt. Clean-shaven, hair freshly blow-dried, he looked good. Damned good. "Hey, kid."

"Hey." It wasn't the warmest welcome, but Chris didn't let it bother him. JD couldn't hold anything against Buck for long, and as long as neither Buck nor Chris gave him cause to, he'd forget about this. Or at least keep quiet about it. 

"Okay," Buck said, "I'm outta here. Call me if anything comes up." 

Chris reached out for his hand, squeezed it quickly, and stood still for the kiss Buck pressed to his temple. "Count on it." 

As Buck walked out, Chris caught JD shaking his head. "You two…" he frowned a little. "I don't know what he was thinking," he muttered after a second, and dropped his head. 

Chris hid a smile; he didn't either. 

Mel arrived not long after Buck left and Vin stood around pouring coffee for a few minutes before he made noises about going outside. Chris didn't imagine he was put off by JD's little sulking glares, but it amused him that JD would do that, defend him even after he'd been told flat-out that nothing needed defending. When Mel pointedly didn't start working, Vin headed for the back door, and Chris almost told him to be sure to carry a gun but he didn't want to call Mel's attention to the fact that they trusted Vin that much. When JD disappeared too and the TV came on in the living room, Chris breathed a sigh of relief; the kid would have given things away, and as much as JD hated the idea of Buck doing another guy, Mel Sullivan would probably hate it a whole lot more. 

"What have we got?" 

The computers have narrowed down the search on our prime suspect," Mel started in, and pulled folders out of the blue plastic traveling file box he'd brought in with him. "They've got maybe 50 possible faces so far. Hopefully we'll get close enough today to start a door-to-door." Mel leaned back in his chair, pretty much the opposite of how he usually hunkered down over the table every other morning. "Chris? You mind telling me why you're so excited about this guy?" Chris just looked at him and Mel pursed his lips. "Besides the obvious? I mean, you know you can't go after him." 

"I don't know anything of the kind. If he's got any outstanding warrants he's fair game." 

"And if he doesn't, he's an upstanding member of the community," Mel said, droll. He dealt Chris a stack of pages. "If he's there, I don't see him yet." 

Chris turned a few of the pages and then swore under his breath. He looked at the picture Buck had pulled out of his pocket last week. Last week… it felt someone else's life. It felt like five minutes ago. 

He set it carefully on the table to the left of his chair. It was still hard to look at it. Maybe it was getting harder. Flashes of memory kept sneaking up, sounds first—Adam's laughter, like he was being tickled in some other room. Sarah's voice calling him from the back yard like she had for that damned barbeque. Then images—of her face, her eyes, Adam's smile. 

He squeezed his eyes tight shut. Buck had been there that day. He'd brought a date, a college student or something, and Sarah had teased him about robbing cradles. Buck laughed too, loud and rolling and so full of the pleasure he took from life, from the littlest things… just like Sarah. Buck had pushed his girlfriend on Adam's swing, making her seem even more childlike, and shot teasing grins Sarah's way. 

She'd been half-admonishing and half amused. 

Adam had shrieked with laughter and begged for his turn on the swing and Buck had given it to him, pushing Adam in an opposite pendulum-arc than his woman so they wouldn't topple the swing set—

Amidst all those memories he could almost smell the smoke from burning tires and gasoline, could almost hear the sound of the fire engines, loud diesels idling and water pumps working hard and the sounds of people, firefighters yelling, cops keeping the press back. Buck's voice shouting at him to keep it together, to hold on to him.

When he felt water soaking his knees and shins, he bolted out of the dining room and onto the back deck, breathing so hard and fast he knew he was hyperventilating but he couldn't do anything to stop it. 

Mel didn't follow him. 

Mel didn't follow him but Vin did, easing catlike from the yard to stand near. He didn't ask questions, didn't say anything, just stood there looking out on the yard. Then a hand eased out, rested low on his back and Vin said, "Just breathe easy, Chris." 

Breathe easy. Right. 

This hadn't happened when he'd looked at Vin's pictures in the hotel. His fury had protected him from this—and maybe that was a part of why he'd been so pissed off, because some piece of him knew this was waiting around the corner. "He killed them," he gasped. "He killed them." Whoever that bastard in the photograph was, he couldn't have been there for any other reason. They had feds and local cops turning over every rock they could think of and still, nobody knew how the man was connected to Fox or to James, but Chris couldn't even care about that right now. "He killed them," he said again, gasped it this time. He had to squeeze his eyes shut to stop the grief from spilling out. 

Vin's hand traced a soothing circle in the middle of his back. Like Sarah had done for him. Like Buck had after she'd died. "Yeah," Vin whispered. No lame platitudes, no "I'm so sorries." If he never heard one of those again it would still be too soon. 

Chris coughed and choked and worried for long minutes that he was going to throw up his breakfast, and the only thing that kept him quiet was the fear that JD would come out and try to help, and if that happened he'd deck the kid. It wasn't JD's fault, but he'd say the wrong thing, do something that would force the wrong reaction out of Chris. 

Thinking about JD calmed him down, just a little. If he punched JD out, Buck would be upset. If Buck was upset then this nightmare would be worse. He remembered that feeling of standing in the eye of a hurricane, and knew he was in the thick of the storm now. He didn't know when, or if, it was going to pass. "I think…" he paused, sucked in a deep breath and held it. "I think I need to kill that man," he whispered, staring over the deck rail at the grass. 

"Know how you feel," Vin said quietly. "But Chris, that ain't the man you are." 

Chris tilted his head. He didn't rise up to standing, just stayed where he was leaned over the rail, gripping it so hard he felt the rough wood digging into his skin. "You don't know who I am," he snarled. 

Vin's hand stopped moving on his back, but it didn't pull away. "I think maybe I do," Vin said thoughtfully. His face crunched up into a grimace, almost like pain. "Think maybe I know you better than you know yourself right now."

Chris shrugged off Vin's hand and stood, taking a couple of steps away. "You don't know shit." 

Vin tugged his fingers through his long hair, a movement that did nothing to tame it. "I know this is why I didn't want to say anything," he said slowly. "I know I didn't want to bring all this back up for you, or for Buck. You think he won't blame himself if you go off the deep end? You think he won't visit you in prison every Friday for the rest of his life?" 

That thought jolted Chris like no other could have. 

"Yeah Chris, that's right," Vin urged. "You've got somebody else to think about now. Maybe you didn't once, but you do now." 

He'd known Tanner was smart, but he'd never suspected the bastard would try to manipulate him this way. That he could, that he'd said maybe the only thing that would have some impact on Chris, was even more of a surprise. He looked over at Vin, measuring him, thinking maybe a good fistfight would wear off some of the feeling bleeding inside him. But even as he thought it, Vin's shoulders hunched in a little and he flexed his hands… then released them. 

"I won't fight you, Chris," he said. 

"Bastard." He said it and thought he even meant it, but the word was without heat. 

"I reckon so," Vin said, and gave him an "Aww shucks" look, almost like Buck might have done. But Buck wouldn't have played him like that. Buck wouldn't have thought to use himself as a wedge between Chris's need for vengeance and his need to keep the new life he'd carved out for himself. To keep Buck happy. 

But keeping Buck safe was even more important, and he'd already proved he couldn't do that. Not yet. "You think…" he paused, not sure he could trust Vin with what he wanted to say. "You think if Stuart James disappeared, and whoever our ghost is in that photograph, Buck would be safe?" 

Vin frowned at him. "He might be, but you wouldn't; he'd kick your ass."

Chris grinned, and it felt wrong on his face. "He sure would." But he'd be alive to do it, Chris didn't say. 

"Chris…" Vin sighed. "That ain't the answer." He held up a staying hand. "Listen now. I know all about keeping your gut warm with hate. But what you've got, what you and Buck have got, that's being alive. No matter what you're feelin' now, if you do whatever you're planning, you'll regret it. You'll make Buck regret it. You've got to think of him."

"I am," he said. 

"Not really." Vin shrugged. "Well, maybe you are. But if you think he'd rather be alive to watch you tried for murder, if you think he won't believe you went off the deep end because he wasn't enough to make you want to stay, then you're dumber than I'd ever give you credit for."

Chris looked out over the land and cursed. "Bastard," he said again, more heartfelt this time. 

Vin chuckled low. "Reckon so." 

They stayed out on the deck a while longer, until Chris heard Mel puttering around in the kitchen, helping himself to more coffee—the man sucked it down it like a camel—and finally, Chris thought he might be calm enough to go back to work. He looked at Vin, hesitated, then reached to squeeze his shoulder in thanks. 

Vin grinned again, that look that was so evocative of Buck, it made him wonder when Vin had learned it from his partner, or if he'd had it all along. "Ain't nothin'." 

But it was. And he knew Vin knew it. 

He turned back toward the house but stopped. "You mind keeping JD off me this morning? I don't think I've got the patience for him, and he's gonna wander in and try to help sometime soon." He had every other day, muzzy but eager. Helping even, but Chris didn't think he could tolerate him right now. 

"Sure." Vin paused. "Uh… he ain't shy. He's gonna ask why I took up with Buck." 

Chris grinned, the fire in him having eased somewhat. "Then you'd best tell him."

"If I tell him," Vin warned, "it'll be the truth. I'm not gonna put Buck in hot water just because you like watchin' him flail around." 

Chris thought about it, then shrugged. "Tell him what you have to. Hell," he said, "go ahead and tell him the truth. That'll keep him hiding from me all day." 

Chris held the door for Vin. He hadn't decided anything—not that he'd have to kill the man in that picture and not that he wouldn't—but Vin had helped him calm down. Whatever happened, he didn't have to let events choose for him. It was easier to think that before he walked back into the dining room to stare at those photographs again, and inspiration turned him toward the office first. He dug through the crap on their desk until he found the iPod Buck had bought when they were shiny and new and almost never used. It still stood on its little stand, and still took up one of the usb ports on the computer that Chris complained about now and again. But it was filled with music, pirated songs JD had found on the internet and downloaded for Buck. He stuck the earbuds into his ears and turned the thing on, taking a second to figure out how to make it scramble the songs around. It didn't drown out the sound of his memories, but it scored them, and every time Jimmy Buffet or Marvin Gaye or, God help him, Madonna popped up, he thought of Buck. 

It helped. 

Half of the faces in the printouts Mel had brought up could be eliminated based on age or the fact they'd been in prison at the time of the murders. The other half was harder to decide on because the faces kept running together and he had to stare at Vin's photograph for long minutes, and look at the others that had this guy in them. It still ate at him, the ones with the man and Whitney, because he'd have been more than happy to beat the information out of good old Eee-Lie if only he'd known the guy had it. He dug out his cell phone a dozen times, tempted to call Charlene Cruz, but he knew she wouldn't give him anything, and digging around too obviously would call too much attention to him. 

Vin stuck his head in a few hours later. "Early lunch, boys," he said, and Chris got up, stiff from sitting still for so long. "You can eat before you take JD in to the doctor's office." 

Damn it, he'd forgotten all about it. 

JD sat like a mouse in the corner of the bench seat, not once looking up from his turkey sandwich. Chris suspected that Vin had spilled the beans, but he wasn't worried. He wasn't a man who hid from his own actions, and he knew JD was mad at Buck basically because he thought Buck had caused trouble. When he forgave Buck, he'd forgive Chris and Vin by extension. 

"You ready to go, JD?" 

JD shrugged like a kid in the principal's office. "Guess so." 

Chris rolled his eyes. "Come on." 

He called Buck on the way to the car. "I'm bringing JD into town for his doctor's appointment," he said. "Sit tight and we'll bring you lunch after."

"I can feed myself, Chris," Buck chided him. 

"I know. But we'll be downtown anyway." He didn't want Buck going outside, not even to collect food. 

"Don Schroder already volunteered to bring back Thai food," Buck said, then more softly, "I won't even be leaving the building." 

Chris threw a glance at JD as they settled into the car, and blew out a breath. "All right. Fine. See you tonight." He rang off and started the engine. 

The drive into town was thick with tension, but it was all JD's so Chris ignored it. Or tried to. When they got to the doctor's office, Chris sat in the waiting room for twenty minutes, thumbing through a magazine and feeling the weight of his gun tugging at the back of his pants while they hustled the kid back to be examined. 

JD came out not long after, frowning and holding out a big red, rubber ball. "This is my therapy," he groused. 

Chris ignored him. "How's it looking?" 

"Fine," JD said, rolling his shoulder. "She said it's healing up real nice and changed my prescription." 

"That's good, JD. Come on, I want to get home."

Mel was still in the dining room when Chris got back with JD, but by three o'clock it was pretty clear they were spinning their wheels. Mel started his departure routine, muttering curses under his breath and tapping his pen against his coffee cup until Chris wanted to throttle him. Then Mel's cell phone rang. 

"Sullivan. Yes." Chris watched him stiffen in his chair and raised an eyebrow when Mel shot a wary look his way. "Yeah?" He snapped his fingers at Chris. "Turn on the printer." Chris did, and Mel finished his call. "She thinks they found him." 

Chris refused to reveal the tension that whipped through him, while Mel opened his notebook computer and checked his email. They didn't talk while they waited, while Mel checked it three more times then said, "Got ya, you bastard." Chris still didn't say anything. He just waited for the file to be printed, and stared at the printer while it hummed. The face, when the page dropped into the tray, was absolutely the face of the man in Vin's pictures. 

"Cletus Fowler," Mel said, reading from his computer screen. "Who the hell names their kid Cletus? No wonder he took to a life of crime." 

"Yeah, Melvin, that's gotta be it." Mel gave him a look that said he wasn't amused. "Five arrests, no convictions," Mel read out loud. "He must have good attorneys. Looks like he was living in Atlanta at the time of your wife's murder. They've got him on a routine traffic stop around that time, with an address in Crescent Heights. Crescent Heights," Mel whistled. "Business must be really good." 

Chris barely listened, reading ahead of him while the printer spat out old warrants and police reports. His arrests looked pretty petty, three for illegal firearms possession but each time for a single gun that wasn't so far past legal it got him more than a slap on the wrist, one aggravated assault that he'd gotten off for when the victim recanted part of his testimony and claimed he'd started the fight, and one for drunk and disorderly, but Chris would have had a couple of those himself if Buck hadn't kept him out of trouble. Neither Whitney nor James was listed as a known associate—not that James would be. He hadn't spent decades avoiding the law to get caught out by something like this. But Chris had half-hoped Whitney would be there. 

"Last known address in Brunswick," Mel said. "That was two years ago, damn it." 

Brunswick was down on the coast, a little port city just a few miles from Florida and a hub for smugglers in the state. It had grown in popularity as the DEA put more and more money into south Florida, so much that back when he and Buck were still cops, special task forces had been set up to try and restrain the flow. Stopping it didn't even seem like an option these days. 

Brunswick was a location related to one of the loose ends in Tim Fox's file. 

"You have people you can reach out to down there?" Chris asked, his fingers itching to dig into the papers on the table. 

"Yeah." Mel closed his computer and picked up his pen, started up that damned tapping against his coffee cup. "I'll make some calls on my way back to the station house, let you know tomorrow." 

Chris still had no idea what his plans were, but he knew he was done having an active duty police officer setting up shop in his house. "You don't have to keep coming out here, Mel," he said. "You're not picking Tanner's brain anymore, and frankly I need to get back to work."

Mel stared at him for a long minute, and Chris let the man do his job. "Interesting timing," he said eventually, "you needing to get back to your routine right when we find the guy you've wanted to find for seven years." 

Chris shook his head. "Not really. We've fallen behind, and you said yourself that I can't do much legally. This bastard," he waved his hand at the pages, "he's got nothing outstanding on him that you know of. You find out he does," he forced a hard grin, "you let me know and we'll be after his ass. But until we do it's got to stay in your court. Buck and I aren't cops anymore." 

"Yeah…." Mel clearly didn't believe him, but then Mel was a smart guy. 

"You can do more to get him from the office, now that you know who he is," Chris said. 

"Yeah," Mel said, still suspicious. 

"Whatever you decide," he said then, and got up, taking the sheets on Fowler with him. "Your stuff's here if you want to come out. But don't let it slow you down on this. Not on this." 

There. That ought to do it. 

W&L • W&L • W&L

Buck looked around his borrowed office, thinking. It was after six, not late enough that evening commuter traffic would be thinning out yet. Ezra had already come in from the bullpen where he, Josiah, and Nathan were working with a dozen or so other skip tracers, to say they were staying late tonight. Then Ezra had started in on a long-winded rant about the "nominal boss" getting nicer accommodations, then one about Don Schroder and Carl Masters, two of Travis's men who, Ezra swore, were crowding him and trying to sneak looks at his notes. When he started in on the poor quality of the coffee and paucity of snacks, Buck had reminded him Vin and Chris were still back at the house. That Buck could have been been there right that minute chasing them from room to room. He chuckled to himself at how fast Ezra had cleared out. The man was so damned easy to rile. 

Ezra and Josiah had found the two men they'd needed to find, but of all of them, Ezra still felt the press of falling behind. This job was a game to him, as much as poker or horse races, and Ezra never liked to lose. They might be here til ten o'clock or later, and Buck had no doubt that Ezra would be trying to steal new business off the cold call-in lines. 

But Buck had only stayed so late because he kept expecting Orrin to drop in, or call him into his office downstairs. And the man hadn't. Right after Chris had called him he'd gone to Barbara Wilson's desk, big and ornate and parked practically in front of the door to Orrin Travis's inner sanctum. He'd told her he wanted to see Orrin. She'd told him "Mr. Travis is terribly busy today and not to be disturbed." He'd told her it was important, and she'd asked if he wanted to leave a message. Maybe Chris's paranoia was getting to him, but he didn't like Orrin not being willing to see him. It didn't happen often, and with this Stuart James thing hanging over everyone's heads, he hadn't expected it today. 

Everybody here at Quick Release seemed twitchy. Don had brought in lunch for everybody who'd wanted to order out, and Buck had joined Ezra and Josiah and half a dozen of Orrin's skip tracers in the break room. Don had been eying the three of them all through the meal, and Carl Masters, a heavy-set fella who Buck had never known to pass up a snack, had barely touched his food before slipping out. 

Spying on them, Ezra had said airily. Buck wasn't so sure Ezra was wrong. 

He leaned back in the chair and looked around his borrowed office, thinking. Casey had found him this space and set him up with equipment, shown him how to use the phones. She'd been courteous and energetic, told him she liked seeing more of W&L of late, and before she left, she'd worked her way around to asking after JD. But when he'd asked after Orrin, she'd clammed up, looking guilty or worried or a little of both. Buck didn't have to ask to know she'd been told to keep her mouth shut. And now Orrin hadn't answered his cell phone. 

It was time to stop wondering why. 

Mrs. Wilson was long gone for the day, her computer screen dark, her lamp turned off. The only thing on the desk was the big leather-edged blotter. Buck walked right past the front door and down the hall to the side, then pressed his ear up against it. He couldn't hear anything, no conversation, no movements—but then again, Travis's place had pretty good soundproofing. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed Quick Release's main number, skipping the message and dialing Travis's extension from memory. 

"Orrin Travis," he heard in stereo. Buck hung up the phone and reached for the doorknob. 

"Orrin?" he called, sticking his head in. "You got a minute?" 

"No," Travis told him. 

"Then maybe you want to make one." 

Travis threw his pen on the desk. "What do you need, Buck? Is Standish causing more trouble?" 

"Not that I know of," Buck said. 

"Well you can tell him he won't be keeping any of the clients he's stolen," Orrin said, annoyed. "Carl's complaining about it and he's disrupting my business. I give up space for four of you to work in my offices, and he pilfers clients. Ungrateful bastard." 

Buck had been with Chris too long. He knew all about the best defense being a good offense, and he wasn't about to let himself be suckered by it. "I'll talk to him," he said. "But right now, I need to know what you know." 

"About what?" 

Buck raised his eyebrows. "Stuart James. What the US attorneys are doing with Whitney. What Timothy Fox told Charlene Cruz when he contacted her—I was in her office when the call came in but I don't know what he said. Why the DA hasn't dropped the charges on Vin Tanner, why the feds haven't claimed the Kincaid murder as their jurisdiction. Start anywhere you want." 

Travis scowled at him. "I know as much as you do. Less, probably, since I'm not supervising Tanner." 

"But why is that, Orrin? You've got your hand in more pots than Chris and I ever did. I'm supposed to believe you're in the dark?"

Travis pushed himself out of his chair with a grunt. "I'm not in the dark, damn it. I'm under subpoena." 

That possibility hadn't even crossed Buck's mind. "For what? Do they suspect you of something? Or are you just being called to testify before the grand jury?"

"Both," Orrin muttered. He shot Buck a dark look. "You think I did you and Chris no favors, sending you after Tanner? Apparently I didn't do myself any either."

Buck nodded, seeing a little of what investigators would see. "You knew Kincaid, you know James."

"Yes." 

"You had dinner with Jess Kincaid less than two weeks before he was killed, and you've been in contact with Stuart James."

"Yes." 

"You're the one orchestrated bringing Tanner in, and Whitney too, indirectly."

"Yes, damn it!" 

Buck grinned. "Shit, you're in more trouble than we are!"

Orrin was not amused. "Fortunately for me, that isn't actually true."

"What are you doing about it, Orrin?" he asked, ignoring the man's tone. He was worse than Chris in a lot of ways. 

"Reaching out to everyone who owes me anything and collecting what information I can."

"You staying in touch with the police?" He was thinking of Mel Sullivan, and said so.

"Of course I am. Now get out of my office before they accuse me of collaboration on top of it." 

"Sure." Buck hadn't even stepped all the way in, so it was easy enough to back out. But… he checked the hall before asking. "But if there was something we needed to know, you'd tell us, right Orrin?" 

"I didn't know about the connection to Chris's wife before I sent you two out after Tanner," he said, his voice flat and hard. "You can believe me or not, it really doesn't make any difference now." 

Buck hated it when Orrin Travis did that. He hated it because he always believed him. 

He said his goodbyes to the boys on the way out, paying special attention to Ezra. "You can't keep anybody you picked up from his phone lines," he said, low enough that Travis's employees wouldn't overhear. 

"I stole them fair and square," Ezra shot back. 

"Ezra. Unless you want to start paying rent here, you'll hand them over to Judy." Judy Flynn was one of his favorites of Orrin's employees, and not just because she was built like Marilyn Monroe. "We've got plenty on our own plates and you know it."

"Yes, yes," Ezra sighed. "Still. It was like taking candy from a baby. Who could resist that?"

Buck was startled into laughing out loud. Only Ezra. 

Traffic was a little thick but still he was passing through Sandy Springs about half an hour after he left Travis's office. He called Chris to let him know and to make sure there'd be supper on; that cheeseburger felt like a distant memory. 

"Yeah," Chris promised. "Vin's cooking." 

"We're gonna have to keep that man around," Buck teased. Little flashes of memory from yesterday could still sneak up on him. "You know, since he can cook too." 

"Can it, Buck. I'll see you when you get here."

He passed by the Roswell Police Station without stopping, but he thought about it because Mel hadn't told them anything new in the last few days. It seemed like there ought to be something from the Roswell detectives by now. If Whitney had spilled his guts then there'd be a lot, and the feds at least should have told the detectives that they had the wrong suspect. They should have cut Vin loose on the murder charge at least. 

He'd have to ask Mel in the morning, or get Chris to if he went in to work again and missed Mel. 

A police car flew by him on the state road lights flashing, and Buck sped up a little, following. When the next one passed he floored it and yes, it was headed for the farm. Shit, shit—he didn't call the house, not knowing what he'd be interrupting and unwilling to distract Chris. JD maybe… but Chris would be using him, if things were bad. He checked his rearview and the rolling hills around the road, used his blinker to turn into the drive. The last car that had passed him was just pulling up by the house ahead of him. The first was already empty, its lights off. Buck saw Chris standing in the lee of the house, holding a rifle and looking like the kind of badass a man wouldn't want to cross. Buck really, really enjoyed that look on his partner.

He hoped Vin was doing the same thing out back. 

He turned the car around, putting the driver's side next to the house, and parked as close as he could get without blocking the patrol cars. He wasn't ten feet from Chris and he knew Chris would watch his back but still he looked around before he opened the door, and he kept his head down while he jogged up to the porch. "Buck, get over here," Chris called out, as if he wasn't doing that already. "We've got trouble." 

"What kind? Anybody hurt?" 

"No. But we've got breaks in the motion sensors in at least three places."

Buck leaned in close. "And for breaks, you had to call in the National Guard?"

Chris glared and shoved him in the chest to force him back a couple of steps then turned toward the pair of uniforms Buck had not quite followed up the drive. "Glad you could make it," he said to them, and shifted the rifle to his left hand so he could shake hands with both of them. "Shelby," he said to the first, then after a pause, "Martha, right?" 

How the hell did Chris know two female uniforms? Buck extended his hand to each of them. "Buck Wilmington, ma'am."

"Martha Windsor," the second uniform said. 

Chris cut off the introductions with a curt, "Let's get inside." Buck followed them, noting that both of them wore kevlar vests. 

"What have you got, Mr. Larabee?"

"Call me Chris. When we moved back in here a week ago, we brought our people with us. Set up a security perimeter, motion sensors mostly, and some cameras. JD was running computer diagnostics or something and he found evidence of tampering" They'd arrived at the dining room where JD sat in front of the monitors that were set up along the back wall, and Chris waved his hand at it. "Watch your step," he said, indicating the file boxes everywhere. 

Anne Shelby pulled out a notebook and pen. "What makes you think it's sabotage rather than an equipment failure?"

"Failure in three places, maybe more?" JD asked skeptically. "This equipment's all brand new, so maybe one, yeah. But three of them?" 

Shelby looked at her partner. Clearly this wasn't something they dealt with every day. "What do you want from us, Chris?" 

"We don't know if anyone got in through the lines. We'll need to search the property, starting with the barn. JD's reviewing the security backups right now but the cameras are all stop-motion, they could have missed someone. We want you here," he finally said, "in case we find them." 

Buck understood. "Better to have police help if we scare any hired killers out of the bushes," he added. To Chris he said, "Where's Vin?"

"He's out in his truck with the other two uniforms," Chris said, "checking the perimeter to see if he can find evidence of tampering or if we're really just jumping at shadows." 

So. Someone had been surveilling them, who knew for how long? "Ain't likely, is it?" he asked. 

Chris shot him a look. "No." 

Buck found a legal pad and sketched a rough layout of the farm, including the house, barn and storage shed. JD stepped in, scribbling pretty well with his left hand to identify locations of the cameras and perimeter sensors. All the while, Buck kept a close eye on Chris. He'd seemed damned tense when Buck arrived but he was calmer now, all business. Buck touched his hand a couple of times, just reminding him he was there, and the second time Chris grabbed it up and squeezed. Buck caught the look of surprise on Martha's face, but nobody said anything. 

Chris's cell phone rang. "Yeah?" Vin, he mouthed. "Yeah. All right." Then to Buck, JD, and the police in the room he said, "They've checked out the first broken point in the perimeter. He says it's definitely been tampered with." 

Buck turned to the cops while Chris was still on the phone. "There any reason for them to check the others? Or do you two want to start the search with us?" 

Shelby closed her notebook. "This is going to be an interesting report to write," she said. "Tell them to check the others anyway, see if they can find signs of entry or evidence to indicate who made the attempt. Let's go." 

Buck went to the bedroom to fetch another rifle and load it, then checked the clip on his .9 mil. The long guns wouldn't do much good inside the barn but they'd be sitting ducks on their way up and back. Still, it didn't seem likely anyone was holed up. If they'd gotten in, they'd have started shooting last night. Or today, when Chris and Vin had both been here practically alone for parts of it. They were the prime targets. 

He shuddered at the thought. He'd been working, babysitting petty criminals while Chris and Vin had been sitting ducks out here. Sitting ducks he'd thought were securely protected. They were going to have to start checking the perimeter every day, and keep someone watching the monitors at night. He jogged back out into the hall, where Chris waited with JD by the front door, talking quietly to the kid. 

"When did Mel leave today?" he asked. 

Chris checked his watch. "I don't know. Three, maybe?" 

"You think they know he's a cop?" 

Chris shook his head. "I don't know what they know, Buck. But for the hell of it let's assume they know more than we do." 

Buck grinned. That wouldn't be hard. "JD, you lock the doors behind us and sit tight, okay?" 

JD looked reluctant to be left behind. "You guys could use an extra pair of eyes," he tried. 

"Yeah," Chris cut him off, "so we can't afford to be looking after you out there. Do as Buck says." 

JD was about two seconds away from fighting about it, so Buck stepped in between him and Chris. "We need somebody in here, kid, to keep an eye on the monitors. You're injured so you're it."

"But—"

"JD. I'm not foolin' around. We need somebody on the security equipment and you're the one who's gonna do it."

JD stared down at his socked feet for a second. "All right, fine." 

"Good," Chris said. "Buck, you think the cops have got any spare Kevlar vests?" 

"I'll go check." Chris patted his shoulder as he passed by. 

It turned out they had one, so Buck brought it back in to Chris and shoved it at his chest. "Put it on." 

"You put it on," Chris said, but he'd grabbed it to keep it from falling to the floor. 

"They aren't shooting at me, Chris," Buck said. "Put it on." 

"You know," Chris griped, worry clearly driving him, "you really piss me off when you're reasonable."

"Always have, pard," he grinned. "Always will." Buck was pleased when Chris put on the vest with only a little grumbling, and annoyed as hell when Chris proceeded to keep himself between Buck and potential shooters' positions all the way to the barn. 

They split up at the barn, Chris with a hard look that betrayed his worry and Buck giving him one right back. They each needed a cop with them though, as a witness to a shooting if nothing else and because uniforms tended to scare even the hardened criminals away. Nobody liked killing cops. Well… almost nobody. 

Dusk fell while Buck and Windsor were still in the barn, and Buck threw on the inside lights so they could climb around the loft, check the stalls and the near-empty tack room. Windsor liked to talk, and kept asking questions about what was going on, and Buck was happy enough answering. He steered her toward the detectives on Kincaid's case at Roswell, and to Mel Sullivan downtown if she needed any background for her report. She agreed to send each of them a copy when she finished it. 

After the barn they still had the storage shed to check, and Buck was reluctant to turn on the outside lights when they were done. 

"Yeah," Windsor nodded, "it'll make us too easy to see." She pulled out her Mag Lite. "Buck," she said, "I don't get the feeling we're going to find anybody."

"Good," he said. Maybe JD had found the breaks before whoever had made them was ready to use them. Maybe Mel being up here every day was a deterrent; his car had the Atlanta PD shield emblazoned on both sides of it. 

On their way to the shed he looked around, spotting Shelby's light in the trees past the overgrown corral. Windsor raised her eyebrows, then opened her radio channel. "Anne, are you and Mr. Larabee strolling in the trees?"

"Yes, Mother," the radio hissed, and Buck couldn't help but remember his and Chris's uniform days, the easy way they had worked together. These two seemed a little like he and Chris had been. Chris must've said that to him, or something like it, a thousand times. 

The padlock on the storage shed was still locked; Buck gave it a tug just to be sure, then after a moment he turned the combination and opened it anyway, stepping back so Windsor could shine her light inside. "Doesn't seem like the best place for a person to hide," she mused. Buck thought that was the best reason to be sure, but he didn't say anything. 

They caught up to Chris and Shelby beside the barn and Buck nodded to the uniform, letting her take the lead. It always paid to show proper respect for the law, because you never knew when you might need it. "It looks clean," Shelby said, but Buck kept his eye on Chris. He knew the look, knew Chris would work himself into a lather if he wasn't careful. 

"Same here," Windsor replied. "Barn's empty, storage shed was still locked, and we didn't see anything to make us think it had been disturbed." 

"All right then," Shelby said, "let's get back to the house." Buck let them move on ahead, and put a hand to Chris's shoulder behind them. Chris surprised him by shifting the rifle to his other hand and patting Buck's hand.

Vin and the other two uniforms were already back at the house, standing in the kitchen with JD hovering alongside. "What'd you find?" Chris asked Vin. 

When he didn't put the rifle down, Buck reached to take it from him and click the safety on. He put both of them in a corner of the dining room while Vin answered, "Nothing. I reset the sensors and we might want to put a camera on one or two of them locations, just as a precaution. But the grass is too high, we didn't even find a boot print."

"You got nothing?" Chris asked him, irritated. 

"Well they didn't drop a business card on the ground, if that's what you're lookin' for." 

Buck turned away so Chris wouldn't see him grin. 

Shelby called in and then they took Chris's Kevlar vest back. Maybe it was time to invest in a matching set, Buck thought. Before they could leave though, Chris stopped Shelby. "Hold up a minute. I'll take those referrals you offered now."

"Yeah." She went to the table and the legal pad, scribbled down a couple of numbers. "I don't know if they'll have time for this, but it's a good place to start."

"Who are they?" Buck asked her. 

"Retired cops. One went out on disability but his background is in surveillance." She looked toward the monitors, then to Chris. "I wouldn't have thought to recommend him last time we met, Mr. Larabee, but it seems like he could be your man." 

"Thanks," Chris said. 

Buck escorted them the rest of the way to the door, half-thinking to ask them how they knew his partner. But he waited until he'd locked up behind them to ask Chris that. "Chris? You know 'em?" 

"They were here last week when Vin and I came up to secure his information."

"You called for a police escort? Chris Larabee, I'm so proud of you!"

Chris flushed a little and growled, "Shut up, Buck," and then JD and Vin were grinning too. 

"I called Nate and Josiah and Ezra," JD said. He looked tired, and Buck decided to run him off to bed or the living room couch pretty soon. "They should keep an eye out for tails and be careful, coming home." 

"Good call, JD," Buck said when it looked like Chris wouldn't. 

"I want somebody on the monitors 24/7," Chris said, and now that the cops were gone and everyone was back to waiting, Buck watched the weight of it settle onto his partner's shoulders, making him stand stiff and tall. "I'll take the first watch. Buck, Vin, JD, go get yourselves some supper."

After Chris turned his back Buck snapped off a salute and mouthed, Sir, yes sir! Vin caught him and snickered. "Come on, Vin," he said, reaching a long arm and dropping it over Vin's shoulders, "let's eat while we can." 

Chris heard Buck's hearty invitation and thought maybe he heard some innuendo beneath it. He turned his head to watch them go, annoyed as hell at his partner. Buck wasn't taking this seriously enough now that the immediate problem was handled. Chris himself had walked the damned fence this morning with Vin, anything could have happened. At least Buck had been home, safe in bed… safe unless somebody had taken him and Vin out with a sniper rifle and decided to clean out the house just to be sure. 

A chill crawled up his spine and he turned to the monitors, eyes flickering over each of the three screens. Twelve cameras, each screen split four ways, and it wasn't nearly enough to cover all the angles. Not that the killers would know that. The only people who'd gone to pick up the equipment had been Buck and JD, and they'd had to go to Frye's for some of the cameras. He hadn't told anyone what their surveillance inventory was and he was pretty confident that none of the others had either. So there couldn't be a leak. 

He was still going to check to make sure. 

Buck came back in a few minutes later with two plates loaded with Caesar salad and big glasses of iced tea. "It was fast," Buck said by way of apology, and hooked a chair with his foot to drag it close. "You gonna get crazy on me?"

Chris wasn't planning on it. "Mel Sullivan found our guy today." He looked at Buck, watching his reaction. "You ever heard the name Cletus Fowler?"

"No," Buck shook his head, already shoveling salad into his mouth. "Cletus? Funny name." 

He debated telling Buck what Mel had said, but let it pass. "Yeah." 

"What have we got on him?"

Chris got up to dig into the file box. He'd been planning not to tell Buck, to keep his options open, but with this break in security everyone would need to know. "He's got a list of known associates as long as my arm," he said, handing the papers over. "See if you know any of 'em."

"Not likely, pard. It's been a long time since we've been in that game."

Chris didn't say anything, just watched the monitors and listened to the crunch of lettuce as Buck ate with one hand, the crackle of papers as he shuffled through them with the other. He grabbed his own plate after a minute, eating the leftover rotisserie chicken off the top of the lettuce. Somebody had toasted sourdough bread, so he crunched on that and started in on the actual salad. His plate was almost empty when the scrape of chair legs alerted him, then the warm touch of a hand to the back of his neck. 

He looked up just in time for Buck to lean in and kiss him, his mouth slick with salad dressing as it slid over his own. "Thanks for telling me, Chris," Buck said, his voice soft and sincere. 

Chris shrugged, not sure what to say. Not certain he would have told Buck if the danger hadn't climbed a notch. 

Buck, damn him, grinned like he knew it. "You know how ugly your face gets when you're cocky?" Chris grumbled. 

Buck just laughed. "Now pard, you know that's damn near impossible." 

Chris just shook his head. 

Buck collected his plate and left him alone for a couple of hours, until the alarm on the front gate beeped around 10:30. Then Buck, Vin, and even JD popped their heads in. "That the boys?" Buck asked. 

Both Ezra's Cadillac and Josiah's Astro Van were lined up at the gate—Josiah and Nathan had ridden in together. Chris nodded. "Yep." 

"I'll go let 'em in," Buck said, but Chris jerked and swiveled around in his chair.

"Buck!" got out before he could stop it, then tried to temper his voice a little. "They've got keys. Don't open that door."

"How about I sneak up the hall and just unlock it for 'em so they aren't sitting ducks out there, Dad?" Buck said, sounding as annoyed as he looked. And even if he hadn't looked annoyed, "Dad" was only, ever and always an insult. 

"Well hell, go out and stand in the yard, then!" he snapped. "I'll paint a bullseye on your chest and you can—"

"I'll let 'em in," Vin cut in, derailing the argument before it could really get going, and his boots were loud in the hall. 

Buck ran his fingers through his hair and blew out a hard breath. "Chris, you need to relax."

"How?" Chris asked, meaning it, and turned back to the monitors where the two vehicles snaked up the drive. How the hell was he supposed to relax when they couldn't be sure somebody wasn't up a tree and just waiting for the right moment? 

Warm hands dropped on his shoulders and squeezed hard enough that he grunted in pain, then sucked in a deep breath. Damn, Buck was good at this, and after a couple of minutes the hard kneading had forced a little of the tension out of his shoulders and neck. The sound of the front door opening made him jerk, but he knew Vin was out there, knew they'd parked one of the rifles just inside the front door and that Vin would have picked it up to cover them. 

Josiah called out, "Honey, we're home!" and Chris rolled his eyes. 

"Come on," Buck breathed, giving his shoulders a last, hard squeeze. "We put pizzas in the oven a few minutes ago."

"Somebody needs to stay on watch." 

"I've got it, Chris," Vin said from the dining room door. 

"All right. Keep the alarms on," he said anyway. 

Josiah looked big and broad and competent, standing balanced evenly on both legs. "So we had some excitement today, did we?" he said easily. 

Chris didn't nod, didn't agree. Excitement was the last word he'd use. 

Vin stepped up beside him and nudged his shoulder. "Go on, take a break. I've got the next watch." 

Chris really didn't want to give up his position because then he wouldn't be able to come back. And he didn't want Buck hovering over him. But he got up anyway and offered a low, "Thanks" to Vin as he passed him. 

Everybody but Vin gathered in the kitchen, where Ezra went to the refrigerator and took out one of his high-priced ales. "Somebody's drinking my beer again," he complained, and didn't offer one to anybody else. Buck started a fresh pot of coffee while JD just hovered, his back to the kitchen door, and squeezed his little rubber ball. 

"Mel Sullivan found Chris's mystery man today," Buck started, and Chris hung back to let him fill them in, watching him treat it like an op. "We've got rap sheets and police reports, but not much else. His last known address in Atlanta was Crescent Heights and his most recent is in Brunswick." 

"I am not driving to Brunswick," Ezra said, like he'd have a choice if Chris ordered him to. 

"Nobody's asking you to, Ezra," he said, to shut him up as much as anything else. "It's two years old, anyway." And he still needed to piece together this information about Fowler and the bits of Fox's file. He was getting an idea, and he didn't much like it. "Nate, you mind checking his last local address? See if the neighbors remember anything?" 

"I'll take care of it. Where's his rap sheet?"

Chris hooked a thumb over his shoulder toward the dining room. "Buck left it on the table." Josiah went to fetch it just as the oven timer pinged, and a few minutes later the five of them were chomping on greasy pizza. 

He watched Buck make a plate and take a couple of slices in to Vin with coffee. Yep, Buck wasn't gonna let him go back and retake the watch. If he'd held out any hope, Buck quashed it when he came back and set a beer down in front of Chris. "Here," Buck said quietly, "help you calm down." 

Calming down wasn't on the agenda, but he wasn't going to fight about it in front of everybody. He took the beer from Buck but left it untouched on the table. 

Ten minutes later he let Buck hustle him out of the kitchen and into the bedroom. He unbuttoned his jeans, but left them on and lay down atop the bedspread. They didn't know when their security had been breached, or if anything been done inside the line. They couldn't be sure somebody wasn't hiding out somewhere on the property even now, even though they'd checked the most likely places. 

Buck watched him for a second then stretched out on the bed beside him. When Buck rolled and reached, started to slide a hand underneath Chris's shirt, Chris said, "They could have tampered with those sensors any time, Buck. They could have been staging the break-in while we were fucking our surety," he grated. With that he grabbed Buck's wrist and jerked his hand away from his belly. He didn't tell Buck he and Vin had walked around the farm this morning. Buck probably already knew anyway, and if he didn't, then he didn't need to. 

"Yeah," Buck said, his voice soft and soothing. "They could have. Could have snuck in then and shot us all I reckon. But they didn't."

"That's your answer for every time something doesn't go bad," he hissed. 

"It is, Chris," Buck said. He was still being careful, and Chris wanted to be annoyed at that. "But in this case, you're wrong and you know it. You want to blame me or Vin for what happened, you'll have to come up with something better than that. If they broke those lines yesterday afternoon, they'd have come in last night. And they didn't." 

"So they broke them last night." He thought about that while Buck's damned hand returned to his belly, rubbing a warm circle into his skin. "And something… scared them off?"

"Must've done. Wish I knew what." 

"They'll be back tonight if they didn't see the patrol cars this evening," Chris went on, ignoring him. "Maybe even if they did." 

"I reckon so. What do you want to do, Chris? Wait til we put the lights out and go lie in wait for 'em? We can leave JD here to watch the monitors, camp by the places they messed with and take 'em out." 

"Yeah," he said, hard, "we can." At least he wouldn't have to argue Buck into it. 

"We need to tell the rest of the boys," Buck said. 

"You think they haven't guessed already?" 

"Good point." Buck's hand kept rubbing his belly, lazy and gentle, but Chris didn't want to be calmed. He didn't want to be calmed but he didn't want a fight so he just left it there, thinking. 

"I'll take Vin with me," he said. "You go with Ezra. Josiah and Nate can go together."

"Trying to keep the prime targets together?" Buck asked him, too perceptive. "Or just keep 'em away from me?"

Chris looked at him then, Buck's face soft and thoughtful in the lamplight. He covered Buck's hand on his belly with his own and squeezed. "Keep 'em away from you," he admitted. It didn't cost much, to give Buck that. 

Buck nodded his acceptance of that fact and eased his body a little closer to Chris's. "Might be smarter to split you two up," he said after a time. "Send Vin out with Nathan—he's got a baby on the way, you know."

It might be. But he wasn't going to pair either one of them with Buck. "Then it's better to keep him away from Vin and me," Chris replied. 

Buck sighed, a soft sound that sent a shiver of air over Chris's neck. "I thought a lot, Chris, about how you must've felt when Sarah and Adam passed. I don't want to feel that, not anything like it. You promise me you and Vin will be careful." 

Chris squeezed Buck's hand in understanding, thinking about the "you and Vin" part, thinking that Buck maybe already had feelings he didn't know about or at least wasn't admitting to Chris. 

When Chris had looked back on it years ago, he could pinpoint the day Buck had fallen for him—or realized it, anyway. Months probably, he'd been feeling it and not even recognized what it was, because Buck was just that way. He didn't question his feelings, didn't analyze them much. One Halloween night, Buck had changed just a little, gone quiet and thoughtful then taken a vacation alone. Buck had realized he was in love with Chris and just gone on with life, not saying anything to Chris but Chris had caught him in plenty of phone calls with Margaret Wilmington; Buck always called his mom when he needed the kind of help that woman could offer as easily as breathing. 

He wondered if Buck was already calling his mom about Vin, but doubted it. Chris could see the signs in Buck's worry for Vin as much as in the sex play, but Buck wasn't there yet. 

Chris let the thought go. He wasn't going to waste energy on worry or jealousy, not until all of them were out of the woods. He'd make time to think about it then, see if he had cause for worry. But Buck had followed him in here, and Buck lay against him now, taking a quiet moment—making one, Chris knew, with that special talent he had for doing it. He rolled onto his side to stare at Buck, to make all of the promises he wouldn't speak and couldn't guarantee: that they'd get out of this, that they'd get the bastard who had killed his wife and son, that both of them would be whole and stronger for having gotten through it together. 

Buck just looked at him, and after a moment, smiled. "We'd best get moving if we're gonna," he said then, "get out there before it gets too late and the bad guys beat us to the punch." 

Chris pressed a chaste kiss to his partner's mouth and nodded. "Yeah. Round everybody up if they've slipped off. Make sure Ezra isn't drinking more than that beer."

"He won't be," Buck chuckled. "He told me a couple of days ago that he had no intention of getting caught in a cross-fire between the crazy sumbitches out there and the crazy sumbitches who sign his paychecks."

Chris nodded; Ezra was canny and smart and tried never to let himself be caught off guard. Since he'd started this line of work he hadn't even gotten sideways with the law again, which for Ezra was pretty good. That strategic kind of caution had always served Ezra well, and them too. Chris rolled off the bed. "Get moving." 

Fifteen minutes later they'd all checked to make sure their cell phones were on "silent" mode and Chris had paired them off. "The only things that'll get through the pasture without bottoming out are Vin's truck and the SUV Ezra rented," he said, checking his rifle's load for maybe the fourth time. "Vin and I will take his truck and cover the break nearest the house. Buck, you and Ezra drop Josiah and Nate off at the spot in the back pasture, and then drive on around to the one furthest out." Buck gave him a dark look for that—he didn't like being handled—but Chris ignored it. "Turn off the dome lights and keep your headlights off," he added, " and watch out for the Hollands' cows. Get into your positions, keep your lights out and your voices down, and then…"

"Then we sing campfire songs and wait for the hitmen to show up with marshmallows," Ezra said. 

Chris grinned. "That's about the size of it."

"Oh, joy." 

Ezra had taken one of Buck's twelve gauge shotguns and Buck the other; Josiah said he'd prefer not to shoot anybody he couldn't see, so he and Nathan stuck to their handguns. Chris and Vin had a rifle each; neither one of them was feeling quite as ethical as Josiah right about now. 

With instructions to JD to lock the doors behind them and stay awake at the monitors, he and Vin set off, idling in the lower gears to cut down on the noise and relying on moonlight to see by. They stopped a hundred yards or so back from the first break in the fence and pulled the truck into the trees. Tall pines, old growth without much underbrush, they weren't the best cover but they were better than nothing. "Come on," Chris said, and slid out the passenger side. He settled down partway behind the trunk of a pine tree with his back against it and took out the night vision goggles JD had brought up with him. Chris had thought it was a dumb ass expense at the time, but now… now the night opened up in pale yellow and green, and he could catch the eyes of small animals, skunks and foxes and the big raccoons that tried to raid their garbage cans now and then. A man on foot would light up like a flare. 

Vin settled down right beside him, sitting Indian-style. "So, you got a plan?" he asked. When Chris tilted his head Vin's way, Vin added, "Buck says you pretty much always have a plan." 

He shrugged. "Hope somebody tries to get in here tonight, grab them, beat information out of 'em." 

Vin chuckled quietly. "Not much of a plan."

"But good enough," Chris said, and handed him the goggles. 

Vin eased up off the pine needles and braced his elbows on the rim of his truck bed, head sweeping slowly left to right and back. Thorough. It settled Chris a little to remember what Vin had been in the army, that he wouldn't miss if he took a shot. "Vin," he called out, quiet, "try not to kill anybody but do what you have to do. Somebody dies, I'll say I shot him."

"Why?" Vin questioned without turning around. 

"It's Buck's and my land, Vin. We have a legal right to use deadly force if we think they mean us harm." His mouth tightened. "I'm guessing these guys aren't sneaking in to steal pecans. And neither of us is under investigation for murder." 

Vin's answer sounded wry and amused. "There is that." He eased back down beside Chris and handed back the goggles, his knee just touching the outside of Chris's thigh. Chris didn't say anything and he didn't move away, but he didn't let himself think much about it either. 

His cell phone vibrated a few minutes later. 

"Watch the light on the face, Chris," Vin warned. 

Chris liked his attention to details but he'd already picked a setting that would keep the light off. "Larabee," he whispered, not surprised to hear Buck's voice on the line. 

"Ezra and I are in place. We dropped Josiah and Nathan at the far side of the pasture and kept the SUV."

"I told you to take that spot," he hissed. 

"Yeah, you did," Buck agreed. "But Nate's got the baby on the way, and I'm not makin' Raine a single parent before the kid's even born. Folks are less likely to make entry so far off." 

Which was why Chris had wanted Buck back there. He should have paired him off with Nathan just so Buck would watch out for him. But damn it, Nathan wasn't as cutthroat as Ezra was, and if Chris couldn't watch Buck's back himself then he wanted him with the man most likely to shoot first and ask questions later. "We're gonna talk about this," he promised.

"Talk all you want, Chris," Buck said agreeably. "Just don't expect me to listen, and be lucky I even kept the SUV. 'cause you know I'm right."

The frustrating part was that Buck was. So he hung up on him. 

As the hours ticked by, Vin started talking. Not about much at first, just whispers in the dark. Chris learned Chanu Reeves' kids names, and that Vin had missed his goddaughter's birthday because of this mess. "Damn," Vin said eventually, "I never missed this part."

"This part?" 

"The waiting. Seems like I spent half my life waiting. There was this time in… well, this one time," and Chris smiled in the dark, "me and Chanu were holed up for three days. He was the spotter and the first day after we got settled, we pissed in a canteen to keep from moving around too much and drawing any attention. Ran out of water toward the end of day two, and I swear to God Chris, when that convoy came in and Chanu spotted the target, I was never so glad to kill anybody in my life." 

Chris had done his fair share of shooting, had killed in the line of duty and again on the hunt for the hard kind of criminal, but he'd never thought much about it. He'd never imagined killing a man just because someone told him to, from a distance and without knowing why. He tilted his head to look at Vin but couldn't make out much in the darkness. 

Vin must have picked up on it, or just on the shift in the quality of Chris's silence because he breathed out a sigh. "Not that I was ever glad to kill people," he added. "It's a little weird, being so good at it." 

"I'm not judging you," he said, because really he wasn't. After Sarah and Adam had died, he'd been sure he could murder in cold blood. That he'd had a reason… Vin'd had his reasons too, more about God and country though, things Chris wasn't sure he was willing to kill for anymore, if he ever had been. He'd had spent a little time the past few days thinking about killing somebody again, a face with no name until Mel Sullivan found it for him. "It's just—it's not something I know about, I guess." 

"Yeah." He heard the sharp inhale before Vin went on, his voice even quieter and almost wary. "Me and Chanu," Vin said, "we were friends before we were lovers, lovers before we were teamed up in the Army. Grew up in the same tribe with the same rules, shared the same secrets. I forget sometimes that most people didn't grow up that way."

"I wouldn't go that far," Chris whispered back. "Buck and I were practically kids when we met in the Navy. His mom hated him being in the service and he hated disappointing her, so when he didn't re-up, I didn't either. She liked him being a cop though, and I can't tell you how many nights we spent in a car on a stakeout somewhere, watching a door or a window. Waiting. There wasn't much we didn't know about each other even before we settled down." 

"Must be nice," Vin said, and Chris remembered him saying that a few weeks ago about him and Buck.

"But?" Funny, he liked the sound of Vin talking in the dark. Sometimes Buck could irritate the hell out of him the way he'd go on, but he just about always appreciated Buck's voice. How Buck could say nothing at all but occupy Chris's head, keep him from overthinking things or getting too wound up. It had been that way with Buck from the start—both the irritation and the appreciation. Vin's quiet whispers had the same effect on him, but it was still too novel a thing for him to be annoyed. 

"But nothin'. Chanu used to be the one guy I could talk to about anything. I don't have anybody like that anymore." 

It seemed to Chris that Vin was doing it right now, and he liked that thought more than he thought he should. "I don't think—"

"Shh." Barely a breath of sound. "Movement." Vin lifted the goggles and peered through them, leaning over Chris a little to get a view around the tailgate of his truck. Then he handed them over and pointed. 

Chris saw it too, three men moving fast and low. "Wait for 'em to get on this side of the fence," he ordered. 

Vin's teeth flashed in the dark. "You want 'em all?" he asked, bringing the rifle up. 

"I want at least one alive enough to question." 

W&L • W&L • W&L

Buck banged his head back against the tree trunk he was leaning on, and felt a little bit of sympathy for Chris. He for one was getting tired of listening to Ezra run his mouth, and Buck knew he did the same kind of thing himself. Granted, Ezra was keeping his voice really low but the guy's imagination and vocabulary were so good that he could complain for hours on end: about pine needles ruining his jeans—his jeans, for Christ's sake; about the ants he was sure were making lunch out of his ankles; about the goggles, and why it was stupid that Chris only had two (when he'd complained on the purchase that JD was wasting "his" money); about having to sit out here in the dark for hours; about how they should have followed Chris's orders, and abandoned Nathan and Josiah to this spot instead of putting themselves at greater risk; about how some people were biased toward expectant parents, and it shouldn't be his problem that Nathan had gotten Raine pregnant; about how there was no money in this venture.

Buck stopped him on that one and pointed out that if he or Chris got killed in this "venture", so would W&L's relationship with Travis, who supplied them most of their big-money jobs. 

"You think I couldn't work with Travis?" Ezra asked archly.

"Oh, I think you could," Buck whispered. "But I don't think he'd work with you." 

After pontificating for what felt like hours, Ezra reluctantly agreed. 

At least when Buck got chatty, he wasn't bitching about everything. He risked lighting up the face on his cell phone to check the time: almost 3:00 a.m. If something was going to happen it would happen soon, in this quietest part of the night. He'd be glad of something happening if it would get Ezra to shut up. 

No sooner had he thought it the report of gunfire cracked out, rifles, and from the pitch of the second round it wasn't the same guns. Chris or Vin, and whoever was shooting back. He snatched up the goggles and stood up fast, sweeping the area once before handing them off to Ezra. "Get in the car," he ordered, "and be on the lookout for intruders."

"Intruders," Ezra said under his breath, like he was critiquing the word, but he slid into the SUV's passenger seat in less time than it took Buck to get around the front bumper and dive in behind the wheel. Buck turned the key and gunned the engine hard enough that the back end fishtailed on pine needles and soft earth. 

His cell phone vibrated against his hipbone; he dug it out of his pocket one-handed, glad this car was an automatic. "Handle it," he said, pitched his phone Ezra's way and grabbed the wheel with both hands. He needed both hands, to keep it from bouncing out of his grip. 

Ezra snatched it out of the air. "Turn the damned lights off!" Ezra snapped at him, then, "JD," he said, and somehow found the speakerphone function that had always eluded Buck. 

"Buck? There's shooting out there!" JD yelled. 

"No, really?" Ezra asked him, then very calmly, "Buck. Turn off the headlights. I know you want to draw their fire but you've got more chance of illuminating Vin and Chris and making them better targets." Buck considered cussing Ezra out because he knew Ezra was thinking about his own ass as much as Chris or Vin's, but he just killed the headlights while Ezra went on to JD. "JD, what do you see?" 

"Nothing. Jack shit. I don't even know which place they got in!" 

Buck could have told Ezra that trying "calm" with the kid wouldn't work. "JD!" Buck yelled it, because his own adrenaline was pumping and the last thing he needed was for the kid to freak out, "get it together! We need you focused, you hear me?"

"I—yeah." Both Buck and Ezra heard his deep inhale and hard exhale even over the sound of the car engine. "Um, sorry. What do you want me to do?"

"Keep your eyes on those monitors and call me or Ezra if you see anything. Anything at all. And call the cops, kid. Tell 'em we've got trespassers and that shots have been fired." 

"Yeah. Will do. Buck? I—"

When JD's voice cut off abruptly Buck thought Ezra had hung up on him, but then Ezra said, "Josiah. How nice of you to call." He held the phone out toward Buck. 

"Least we could do, Ezra." Josiah's voice was downright laconic—maybe like Buck's own would have been if Chris weren't taking fire while he wasn't there to help. 

"The very least," Ezra said. 

"Josiah," Buck cut in, "how many shots did you hear? We're in the car…" he tried to explain, but Josiah apparently didn't need it. 

"Three shots fired, evenly spaced, then three fast and then too many to count. Another exchange after that, firing and return of fire. Just now, two or three more shots but there were breaks in between. I figure Chris and Vin have got 'em on the run."

He was probably right. "Any movement out your way?" Buck asked. 

"Not even a mouse. We could use a lift."

"You're gonna have to wait, the shooting came from over where Chris and Vin are. Ezra and I are headed there first. Stay put," he decided, thoughts running fast and thick, "we don't need anybody sneaking in from behind us." 

"All right."

After Ezra hung up, he said, "I'd seriously consider impregnating someone if it would make you as concerned for my safety." 

Buck shot him a tight grin. "It wouldn't." They bounced along in the dark until they were close to Chris and Vin's position, then Buck forced himself to slow down. "Ezra, find 'em," he said, and Ezra raised the night vision goggles. 

"They're straight ahead a ways, a hundred yards or so. Uh…" 

"What?" Buck demanded, thinking the worst. 

"He's fine," Ezra said, disgusted. "Just enjoying himself." 

"Anybody else around?" Buck asked, not interested in Ezra's color commentary at the moment. 

He threw a look Ezra's way, watching his head turn. "No one near. Wait… yes, someone well away from your property and careening toward the highway in a pickup truck. It looks like they're on the neighbors' farm track." 

Buck was tempted to ram the fence and go after them, but he flicked on the headlights instead. 

"Ow!" Ezra yelped, and threw the night-vision goggles onto the bench seat between them. "Warn me next time!" 

"You get a make on the vehicle?" Buck said, and accelerated toward his partner. It looked like Chris needed a leash on him, because Vin was just standing there holding three rifles while Chris beat the shit out of a guy. 

"Yes, yes, my eyes are fine, thank you," Ezra grumbled, then, "No."

Maybe Chris or Vin had. He pulled the SUV in close, between them and the fence, and jumped out. "Damn it, Chris!" he shouted, diving right in to hook an arm around Chris's elbow as Chris pulled back to land another punch. He had to use most of his weight to drag Chris around and off the perp. Chris was out of control, trying to swing at the guy even as he tried to shake Buck off. 

"Let go of me!" 

"Calm down and I will!" Buck yelled back, grappling with flailing arms and a body that fairly vibrated with anger. "Chris!" He finally just shoved himself forward and tackled Chris to the ground, trusting Ezra if not Vin to keep their guy from escaping. The SUV's headlights cast hard shadows, illuminating Chris's face and the fury written large across it. "Chris…" 

Chris glared at him, but then shook his head. "Get off me," he said more quietly, so Buck did, watching him. 

Chris just rolled to his knees and jumped to his feet, glaring at the man still on the ground. The guy had crab-walked back maybe a few feet before Ezra had pulled his handgun and cocked it, pointing it at the guy's head. 

"Going somewhere?" Ezra asked, as casual as if he were in an office. 

Chris wasn't so calm. "You tell me who sent you here or we'll start again," he growled. 

"A guy, like I said," the man sputtered, "I don't know who he is!" 

Buck took two long strides to Vin and snatched one of the rifles out of his hand. He was careful to grab one he recognized, one of his and Chris's. "You couldn't have stepped in?" he demanded, voice low. 

Vin shrugged in the dark. "Looked like he was doing all right on his own," he said, and Buck didn't know whether to laugh or slap him upside his shaggy head. 

"Who started the shooting?" he asked, scrubbing at the back of his neck with one hand; the hairs were still standing on end, reaction to the gunfire and everything he'd pictured on the mad rush over here. 

"I did, right after they came through the fence. Got that one," he nodded toward the man on the ground, "and one of the two guys running, but his buddy helped him off."

"I'm surprised you didn't just kill 'em all," he sniped. 

"Chris told me not to." Vin said it like that was an answer, like it was the only reason not to kill three men in cold blood. The bitch of it was that Buck halfway agreed with the sentiment. Chris had grabbed up the guy in a headlock while Buck and Vin watched and Ezra rifled his pockets. 

"Nothing," Ezra said. 

Chris grabbed the guy by the front of his jacket and shook him so hard his head snapped back on his neck. "Who sent you?" 

"This might take a while," Buck said. 

"I know a few ways to make him talk," Vin said, still so calm and cool. 

"Yeah," Buck said, "I'll bet you do. But the cops are on their way and I'm betting you won't want to explain your methods to 'em. How bad did you shoot him, anyway?"

"Two through the leg, he'll be all right." 

"Damn, Vin…" he was halfway to pissed off and halfway to impressed, but he knew they couldn't stand here all night rubbernecking while Chris made himself feel better through his little display of excessive force. He pulled out his phone, dialed JD. "Ezra, go pick up Josiah and Nathan, keys are in the car. And keep an eye out, there could be more of 'em out there." 

JD answered before Ezra could shoot off a reply. "Everybody okay?"

"Yeah, kid, everybody who matters. And we caught ourselves one bona fide bad guy. You see anything from back there?"

"Nope. All clear." He sounded disappointed to have missed out on the excitement. "The police are sending a car out, though."

"We'll be back at the house in a few minutes. Good work, JD." 

"I sat here," JD griped. 

"Yeah, and watched our backs." He hung up. 

Vin had joined Chris so Ezra could leave, and knelt down beside the guy. "He just wants to know your name," Vin said reasonably. When the guy grunted and then let out a keening whine, Buck shook his head. 

"Staunching the blood there, Vin?" he asked. Might as well have a good story for the police.

"Yeah, Buck. Don't want him to bleed out on us." 

The guy keened again and then grated out between clenched teeth, "Blackfox. My name's John Blackfox. Stop it! Stop it, please!" 

Buck wondered how he'd keep both Chris and Vin off the guy, and then realized he didn't care that much. Muscling in beside Vin, he shoved his hip against Vin's shoulder hard enough to topple him backwards, away from the guy. 

"Hey there, John," Buck said, easy. "I'm gonna do you a favor and try to keep these gorillas off you. You mind doing me one and telling me what you were doing sneaking onto our property?" 

Blackfox seemed to sense an ally—Chris was actually really great at "good cop" but clearly he wasn't in the mood tonight so Buck had to do it—and said, "I thought we were gonna rough up a guy. The man who hired us, he said some dude had banged his wife, offered us a grand each to beat him up. That's all!"

"They needed rifles to mess up a guy's face?" Buck asked him, keeping his voice easy. Reasonable. 

"They were just gonna scare him," Blackfox said. He'd curled onto his side, hand gingerly reaching to put pressure on his bullet wounds. Both were through the calf, not two inches apart. Vin was damned good with that rifle. 

"That what they told you?"

"Yes!" 

"Come on, let me help you up, John," Buck offered, and bent down to slide an arm under his shoulder blades. 

"Ow—damn it, be careful!"

Buck stifled a laugh, barely. "Well pard, you do know we were within our rights to shoot trespassers."

"That's not right; it's just not right," Blackfox bleated. 

He got to his feet, barely, and hopped on one leg as Buck led him toward Vin's truck. "Vin?" Buck called. "You mind riding in the back with him? Keep an eye on him?" He'd have done it himself, but he needed a minute with Chris. 

"Naw, I don't mind." Vin stowed the rifles in his shotgun rack inside the cab, treating one with special care as he handled it by the end of the barrel, and then met up with Buck at the back of his truck. "Come on there, you." Vin actually opened the tailgate for him, and watched while he dragged himself up into the truck bed. "Up you go," Vin guided him, as friendly now as he'd been hard before. Buck wasn't about to tell Vin or Chris, but it kind of turned him on, watching Vin make the switch like that. Knowing Vin could probably make the switch right back just as easily. 

Maybe it was the adrenaline. He hoped it was. "Keys?" Vin fished them out of his jeans pocket and handed them over, and Buck reached for the sound of jangling metal in the dark. "I'll drive," he said, turning to Chris. Chris just headed for the passenger side and climbed in. 

He turned the engine over and hit the headlights, easing the truck into first gear, driving slowly so he wouldn't jostle Vin and their prisoner. "Did you have to go and beat the tar out of him?" When Chris didn't answer Buck tried again. "He was willing to talk, Chris. You saw that." 

"I softened him up for you," Chris said. 

Buck laid a hand on Chris's thigh and squeezed, more worried than he wanted to say about what he'd seen. Chris hadn't gone off on somebody like that since his hard-drinking days in the months after Sarah and Adam were killed. "Yeah pard, you did. Think you'd mind holding off next time?"

"Why?" Chris snorted, not amused, and peeled Buck's hand off his leg. 

"It's gonna be hard to keep the cops cooperating if we turn over too many abused witnesses." 

"He's not a witness. He's a piece of shit criminal." 

"They don't much like private citizens beating on piece of shit criminals either." 

Chris didn't seem inclined to answer, so Buck got down to business. "What're you gonna tell the police?"

"The truth. They know someone tried to sneak in here. One of the guys dropped his rifle just the other side of the fence, Vin got it while I held on to Blackfox back there," he said, and jerked his thumb toward the truck bed. "That's evidence enough that they weren't kids sneaking in for a midnight dip in the pond." 

"Vin's already under suspicion for murder…"

"And if he'd killed one of them then we'd be telling the cops a different story," Chris snapped. 

"You hit any of the guys running away?"

Chris huffed out an annoyed sound and looked over his shoulder, trying to make out Vin and Blackfox in the dark, keep his eye on them. "Didn't even try. I just covered Vin." 

The sniper. It made twisted if perfect sense. As long as no unidentified bodies turned up in the County morgue with their bullets in them, Buck figured they were all right. "Think either of 'em will bleed out?" he asked. He'd gotten a look at the spacing on the holes in Blackfox's pant leg, and doubted it. If Vin hadn't intended to kill them, they'd probably be all right.

"No. We'll keep it simple, tell the police the truth. I just hope they aren't there when we get back to the house," he said, thinking out loud. 

"Even if they are, we can show Blackfox the picture of Fowler, see if he twitches."

"Pard, you read my mind." 

If Blackfox knew Fowler, he was damned good at covering it because he showed no reaction at all. He was also good at bleeding; he tracked a blood trail through the kitchen and into the hall before Chris noticed it and yelled at him to be careful. 

"It's not my fault!" Blackfox yelped. "You shot me!" 

"We can do it again," Chris said darkly. "Now you tell us who hired you or we'll tell the cops we lost you and take care of you ourselves." The gate alarm they'd set up buzzed at that moment, and Chris knew he was running out of time. He double-timed it to the files in the dining room and dug out a picture of Stuart James, then ran back out into the hallway where Vin or Buck or someone had dropped a towel on the floor and made Blackfox stand on it. The guy looked scared out of his mind, moreso when Chris held the photograph up in his face. 

"What about him?" he grated. 

Blackfox's eyes widened, but he shook his head. "I…" 

"Save it." Chris knew a look of recognition when he saw one, and if Stuart James was around he was going to find him. He was done playing possum out here. Orrin would know if James was in town, but he was being damned tight-lipped lately. Infuriatingly so. 

A visit to Orrin's office tomorrow would be the first thing on Chris's list. 

The arrival of the police was something of an anticlimax. The two uniforms were all too happy to take statements and, after Buck introduced himself by name and asked after Windsor and Shelby, then Mel Sullivan from their old station house downtown, to gather around the kitchen table with cups of coffee to do it. 

Nathan bandaged up their trespasser while the police cast speaking glances at each other and took notes. He was handcuffed—Chris had insisted, more out of anger than need; the guy was starting to look a little pale behind the long hair and dirt. 

"We should get him to a hospital," the big black guy said. His badge read "Harris, L." 

"He'll live long enough for you to take our statements," Buck assured them, cheerful and confident enough that they believed him. It didn't hurt that he was obviously right. As soon as they staunched the blood flow, Blackfox wouldn't be in any immediate danger. 

When Chris motioned him forward, Vin spoke in monotones, explaining their fear of an attack and their defense against it. "I tagged one more of them," Vin said, "in the leg same as this one, but his buddy helped him get away. You might want to check out the local emergency rooms."

"Did you get a make on their vehicle?"

"Ford Ranger I think, pretty new by the look of it. No plates. It was too dark to make out the color. But the other man I shot dropped his weapon. It's in my truck out back." 

"Handgun, or rifle?" Harris asked. 

"Rifle, an AR-15." 

"Marty," Harris directed, "you want to grab an evidence bag?"

"Sure thing, Harris." "Marty" collected Vin with a nod of his head and they disappeared out the front while Harris kept asking questions, enough and with enough repetition that it set Chris's teeth on edge. Had he and Buck been this irritating when they'd worn the uniform?

When the seven of them had provided enough information to paint the picture and Chris had handed over the rifle Vin had used for them to run ballistics on, the uniforms stood to leave. They handled Blackfox with more care than Chris would have preferred. "Keep us informed," he ordered, then clamped his jaw shut when Harris bristled. "We'd appreciate it," he added. 

They left then, calling in to their station house before escorting Blackfox out the door. Chris watched the bastard limp up the hall, thinking that they should have kept him. The law had done him no favors in recent years, but Blackfox had. 

"He recognized James," Chris started in as soon as the front door closed. 

"I'm not so sure," Ezra replied. 

"I am, Ezra," he snapped. 

"Be nice if we could catch James with Fowler, put a big ol' ribbon on this whole case," Vin said softly. 

Yeah. It would be. 

Josiah piped in this time. "I'm thinking I agree with Ezra on this one, Chris. He might have recognized James, but when you showed him the picture of Fowler, he did nothing. No confusion, no surprise, no nothing. What men don't say is usually more telling than what they do." 

"So what do you want me to do about it, Josiah?"

"Just…" Josiah pursed his lips, looking pensive and every one of his fifty years. "Let's not jump to conclusions. Or if we do, let's not break anything we can't fix." 

Chris wasn't interested in philosophical debates or riddles when it was almost dawn already. He looked around the room; everybody was dragging his ass or rubbing his eyes. "I'll take the watch," he said, "and we'll figure this out in the morning. You all get some sleep." 

Buck came up to him, worry in his eyes, and Chris hated to be the one who'd put it there but he wasn't going to back down. Not when he was this close to solving a murder seven years gone that could still haunt him today. "I'm all right," he said, low because of the audience milling around them. "Stop worrying."

Buck frowned at him, clearly not convinced. "I'll stop worrying when this is over." 

"Well," Chris said, trying for a grin, "then you may not have long to wait." 

"Maybe," was all Buck gave him. "You want coffee?"

"Thanks." 

Buck hung back after Josiah and Nathan had split off to their various rooms, leaning against the counter while the coffeemaker bubbled and dripped. Chris could tell he wanted some privacy but JD was bouncing off the walls and Vin looked pretty damned alert. Chris wondered if shooting people did that for Vin or if he'd just caught up on his sleep enough that he could afford one long night. 

"Fowler's still our best bet," Buck started, testing the waters Chris knew. 

"We don't even have a current address," Chris snapped. "And until we do, he's smoke. He may be the one who set that car bomb, and if he is we'll take him down for that." He met Buck's worried gaze and tried to keep his anger in check. It kept dipping and flaring up, like riding a rollercoaster in the dark. "He deserves whatever the law can do to him," he said. "But he's not the one who ordered it. That has to be James."

"Why, Chris?" Buck asked him. 

"How the hell do I know?" he said. "But everything seems like it leads back to him. And Blackfox reacted to that picture, Buck. You saw it."

Buck nodded, somewhat reluctantly. "Yeah."

"All right." Chris scrubbed at his face then shot Buck a glare. Out of the corner of his eye he could see JD's head turn back and forth, watching their exchange like a tennis match. 

Chris just looked at him, until the blue of his eyes clouded with anger and Buck said tiredly, "When are we leaving?" 

"We?" 

"Sarah was my friend too, Chris. And you know how I felt about Adam. If you're going, you're not going alone." 

"I can help," Vin said, sounding quiet and sure enough that Chris wanted to believe him. 

"I doubt that," Chris said, hard. 

"You wouldn't know where to go without me, Chris," Vin said. "And you still might not. I've been there, I know James's land—"

"I'm not going to see James."

"The hell you're not," Buck said on a huff. "You may not think you are, pard, but that's where you'll end up." 

JD piped in then before Chris could shoot off his mouth. "But why do we want to go after James? He's already under investigation, for those old murders and whatever else he's doing, and now they're gonna get him for arranging Kincaid's murder. We don't need to go after him."

Chris wanted to cuss when Buck shot JD a grin. "You're right, JD," Buck said, then to Chris, "he is." 

"Fine, whatever." He was too tired for this, and his temper was too short. JD was on Buck's side of this argument, so he looked to Vin, asking for a little help. 

Vin shook his head, gave him a little I've got nothing look. 

"So," Chris said, "why the hell does James—or Fowler," he amended before Buck or JD could open their mouths, "want us dead? What are we getting close to?"

"Mr. Tanner's presence isn't enough?" Ezra asked. 

It was Buck who shot down that idea. "If they know he's here, they could've followed him any time, got to him when he was more exposed." 

"Then maybe they want what they think he has, and since they didn't find it at the office…" Ezra tried again. 

"Maybe," Chris acknowledged. Reluctantly. It didn't feel right. 

"Maybe we're getting too close to Fowler," JD said. 

Buck nodded, and so did Vin. "John Blackfox is a whining little turd," Vin said. "But if the cops connect him to Fowler or Stuart James, then he'll be the prettiest piece of shit I've ever seen. He'll be the one who ties all the pieces together." 

"If," Chris said cuttingly. Vin frowned at him. 

Buck groaned. "Hell. I'm fuckin' tired, pard. We need to find Fowler. If he leads us back to James, then great. But JD's right; James is gonna go down anyway." 

Chris split his glare between the three of them. "I'll be on the watch," he said, and slipped out of the kitchen.

[Index] [Previous] [Next] 

The Magnificent Seven and it characters @ MGM, the Trilogy Entertainment Group, the Mirisch Corporation and TNN, and was developed by John Watson and others.


	11. Skip Trace - What Counts As A Win: Chapter 11

SKIP TRACE: WHAT COUNTS AS A WIN  
By Charlotte C. Hill and Maygra 

Universe: Skip Trace 

Acknowledgements: Many thanks to Megan for morale and editorial support, as well as a few scenes .

Pairing/Characters: C/B, Vin, Ezra, cameos by the Nathan, Josiah & JD

Rating: NC17 (We mean, seriously...look who's writing this thing!)

Story Notes: With thanks to Megan and Maygra for getting this novel series started, and special thanks to Megan and Fara, BMP and Mardi for encouraging me to see it through. Their editing and moral support has been invaluable.

Feedback: yes, please, any kind, on or off list to charlottechill@yahoo.com and maygra@gmail.com. 

Wednesday, June 6

Buck hadn't been thrilled with going to bed alone, but he'd known Chris wouldn't be able to sleep for a while, anyway. He woke up alone too, late by the feel of the heat in their bedroom, and Chris's side of the bed was still empty.  
That was all right. Chris would fall into it sometime today and maybe he'd actually get some rest this way. 

He checked the clock; four hours wasn't much but it seemed to have done the trick. He rolled out of bed, cleaned up a little, and found a pair of sweatpants to slide on before heading out into the kitchen. The number of times he'd had the bedroom door open this past week before he'd remembered there were other people in the house was ridiculous, and he looked forward to this being over so he could fetch a cup of coffee naked if he wanted to. 

It was already broad daylight outside and sunshine spilled through the kitchen windows, but the hall toward the front of the house was still in deep shadow; Josiah must have closed the drapes before going to sleep on the couch. He saw the back of Chris's head through the dining room door but went on to the kitchen first, feeling like he needed a caffeine boost before he heard what Chris was thinking. 

The side of the pot was cold. He shrugged and poured a cup anyway, then threw it into the microwave, yawning and stretching while the timer counted down. When he walked into the dining room a minute later, the quiet "Hey," startled him so badly he jerked and coffee sloshed out of his cup. Vin stood just inside the door, back against the wall and hands stuffed into the pockets of the same jeans he'd been wearing last night. 

Buck grunted and retrieved a paper napkin from a drawer to clean up the spill. "You stay up too?" Buck asked him. Vin nodded. Buck shrugged and walked on over to the side table where Chris sat. "Mornin'," he whispered, and leaned down when Chris turned his head up to look at him. He'd planned on a good morning peck but Chris reached up, snagging a hand around the back of his neck to hold him in place, and Chris slid his tongue out across the closed seal of Buck's lips. 

Buck's mamma hadn't raised a fool; Buck opened his mouth and relaxed into it, savoring the warmth of the contact and even the stale taste of old coffee and fear. When Chris let him go Buck smiled at him, touched, and licked his tingling lips. 

It took a second to remember what he'd been thinking. He'd already decided he was going to drive down and see Timothy Fox to find out if he could get anything out of him now that he'd been stewing for a while. "I'm gonna go down to Hardwick today, see if Fox has had time enough to think about the mess he's in."

"Good idea," Chris said. He looked too preoccupied for Buck's tastes, but then he'd been awake all night. 

"Want to come along?" 

Chris shook his head. "He's not gonna talk to me. But you," he smiled, "you might be able to sweet-talk something out of him just like you did with Blackfox." 

Chris was too agreeable for Buck's tastes. Normally that wouldn't make him suspicious, but today it set his nerves on edge. "What're you gonna do?"

Chris shrugged. "Sit here and stare at the walls. Drive in and see Orrin later, maybe when Nate and Josiah and Ezra go in to work."

"He's under subpoena…"

Chris's face got caught between a glare and a frown. "I don't care. If he's got something I need to know, I need to give him an opportunity to tell it." 

It made sense, sort of. Orrin had said he didn't, but then he might not be as willing to talk to Buck as he was to Chris. "Okay." He shot a look Vin's way. "Vin gonna stay with JD?" he asked Chris. 

"JD's halfway to healed, Buck," Chris said, as impatient with Buck's concern as he probably was with JD's whining as he recovered. Buck had to admit, JD wasn't one to suffer in silence and he wasn't really as entertaining about it as Ezra could be. "He doesn't need a babysitter anymore," Chris added. 

"Well somebody's got to keep him out of the kitchen knives," Buck said with a smile. "He might cut off something he'll need one day." 

"You can put a 'keep out' note on the drawer," Chris said dryly. 

"I can stay here," Vin volunteered. Buck nodded his thanks, still on edge about Chris and this whole mess. 

"We should call the police," Buck said, "see if they got anything out of Blackfox." 

"Better to let Mel do it," Chris replied, and he was right. 

"Yeah, okay." He looked around the room, stretching around to try and reach an itch on his back. It was plenty dim in here too, the curtains closed and the room illuminated mostly by the monitors and a desk lamp. "You guys should get some sleep." 

Chris reached and tugged on the waistband of his sweatpants, guiding him to turn around. "Yeah, I should," he said behind Buck. His fingernails scraped lightly, chasing the itch up Buck's spine and sending a shiver of pleasure through him almost as good as sex. Buck wriggled and arched a little, moving his back up and down to guide Chris's hand. When he heard Vin chuckle from across the room, he turned his head, eyes raised in question. 

"Like a dog gettin' his ears scratched," Vin offered. 

"Oh, it's a hell of a lot better than that," Buck assured him with a little leer. Unfortunately, the byplay made Chris stop. He edged back an inch or two to get Chris scratching again, but all he got for his effort was a smack on the ass. 

"Go get your shower, if you're gonna go," Chris told him, and Buck looked to the monitors for a time check. It was just after nine a.m. now, late enough that traffic would have thinned out by the time he got cleaned up and into his car. 

"Sure." He turned to face Chris and stretched a little, showing off his body. "Wanna join me?" 

Chris arched an eyebrow. "No. Go on."

"Spoilsport," Buck teased, and headed for the door. The door Vin was standing right beside. He tossed a look over his shoulder and stopped right in front of Vin. "How about you?" he asked, and reached to rub his knuckles over Vin's belly. Vin, already backed up against the wall, had nowhere to run but he tightened his stomach to evade the touch. It didn't matter to Buck; he just reached a little farther. 

"How about me, what?" Vin asked, wary, but Buck knew the signs and he saw them in Vin, the slight flush to his cheeks and his dilating eyes. 

Buck dropped his voice. "You want to take a shower with me?" 

Vin flushed so prettily that Buck was about ready to rub up against him like a cat. He heard movement from behind him but didn't turn, too entertained and a little intrigued by the look on Vin's face and how tightly he held his body. It seemed to Buck as if one wrong move—or one right one—might break Vin's resolve. 

Then Chris was at his back, one hand grabbing a handful of fabric at the back of his sweatpants and pulling. Hard. "That's enough, lover boy," Chris chided. "Stop bothering him."

Buck liked the way Chris stood so close, liked even more the way Chris's tugging on his sweatpants pulled the soft fabric tight between his legs and over his cock. He leaned forward enough to hold his ground against Chris's tugging and smiled at Vin. "Am I bothering you, Vin?"

Vin frowned at him, and his eyes darted back to where Chris stood behind Buck. "Yea—" his voice came out hoarse and deep with arousal, making Buck grin wider. Vin cleared his throat and tried again. "Yeah, you're bothering me. Grow up, why don't you?"

Buck chuckled and let Chris pull him a step back, not because he wanted to or because he thought Vin really wanted him to go, but because he'd started to get hard at the idea and decided maybe he was overdoing it. They had a full house, after all, and now probably wasn't the time for another romp between the three of them. Still… he reached back to grab Chris's wrist before his partner cut off the circulation to important parts south, and gave Vin a hopefully reassuring look. Then he slid his hand around Vin's neck to hold him still and leaned in, pressing his mouth against Vin's. 

Vin's mouth opened all on its own like he couldn't stop himself, and Buck couldn't stop the masculine pride he felt, knowing Vin wanted him too. 

"Buck!" Vin turned his head to break the kiss and Buck looked at his partner. Chris wasn't quite glowering, but he didn't look particularly happy either. 

He squeezed Chris's wrist, gentle. "Yeah?" 

Chris looked from him to Vin and back a couple of times, then relented a little, looking confused. "Now ain't the time," he said. Buck caught the startled look on Vin's face and was glad of it. The guy had obviously thought that their first tumble would be their last—and Buck had too, for about half a minute. But it had been too good to let the game end without at least a couple more innings. And it seemed like Chris hadn't completely shut the door on the idea either. 

His dick perked up a little more. 

Chris's gaze swept down his body to glare at the offending organ. "You've got work to do," he said cuttingly. "I know you like to think with your dick, so think about this; if we keep getting shot at you might lose it."

Buck's cock wilted. "You sure know how to kill a mood," he grumbled, but he let Chris pull him out of the dining room and across the hall. 

Chris shut the bedroom door behind him and Buck kicked out of his sweatpants. "Did you have to try and start something in there?" he groused, clearly and deeply annoyed.

"Well, you never would," Buck said. 

"I'm the one who did start—" he cut himself off when Buck laughed at him for walking right into that trap, and scrubbed at his face with both hands. "Fine, Buck, we did it once and it didn't kill us. That don't mean I'm opening the door for more."

"Why?" Buck asked him, and turned to dig through the dresser for clean clothes. They were running really short and he was going to have to break down and do laundry soon or start buying more. 

"What do you mean, why?" Chris spluttered. "Because!" 

"Oh, because." Buck dropped his clothes on the floor and tugged Chris into a loose embrace. "Chris, don't talk just to hear your voice. If you're serious, if you really aren't interested in another go, I'll respect that. You know I will. But if you're just saying all this because you think you should, then you're wasting time." Buck glanced toward the closed door. "He's not gonna be in Atlanta forever. And… like you said, what's it gonna hurt?" 

Chris frowned at him but slid his arms around Buck's waist, resting them big and warm on Buck's butt cheeks. "Buck…" Chris started, but then he sighed out the rest of his breath without words. 

"Hey," Buck whispered. "No kidding, am I worrying you? Is he?" 

"I… I don't think…" Buck squeezed him a little tighter; Chris wasn't usually at a loss for words when he had something to say. "You want me to say I liked it?" Chris finally asked. "Yeah, I did. But that doesn't mean it was a good idea, or that doing it again would be."

"Then you tell me, Chris," Buck said, "are we gonna try it again? Or aren't we?"

Chris's mouth twisted up and he glared, but it was halfhearted at best. "Damn it," he muttered, which to Buck's mind was as good as an agreement. 

"I'm not going anywhere," Buck promised, and kissed him quick. "I'm not going anywhere without you right beside me. All right?"

Chris huffed out a put-upon breath, but he nodded. Barely. "You mind if we at least find these people who keep shooting at us first?" 

"No. You mind if I keep him on simmer? No joke now, do you?"

"Of course I mind," he said gruffly. "Gets me all heated up when you do shit like that."

"Heated up good though, huh?" Buck chuckled, low and satisfied. 

"Both," Chris admitted. "Jealous—and you know it, so don't crow about it. Horny too. I… should mind a whole lot more, but you look so damned excited about it." Then, quieter, "Him too." 

Buck grinned. "He does, doesn't he?"

Chris frowned up at him. "Be careful there, Buck. He's… he's got a lot of lonely in him." 

Buck actually agreed with Chris on that, but he didn't have any plans to tromp all over Vin's heart. Just maybe suck his cock a little, and very few men had reason to argue against that. Vin Tanner was a man who'd make a good friend, and Buck was planning on keeping him as one once the fun and games were over. "I'm not gonna promise him anything I won't deliver," Buck assured, "and nothing you tell me I can't deliver. Okay?"

Chris sighed, pursing his lips, but then he said it: "Okay."

"Then there's nothing to worry about, pard." 

"You'd better make goddamned sure of that," Chris warned him.

Buck let go of Chris's waist and held his head in both hands for a soft, protracted kiss. "I promise," he whispered against his partner's wet mouth. "I promise, Chris."

Chris looked halfway mollified, and still damned tired, when he pulled away. "You break that promise and I'll fuckin' kill you," he said, but the words were without heat. 

"I won't," Buck said, with all the sincerity and the love he had in him. And he meant it. "Now why don't you stretch out on the bed, get a nap in while I get ready to go, okay?"

Chris's glance at the bed was filled with longing, and even if his eyes hadn't betrayed him, his yawn did. "Yeah, all right. Don't leave without waking me up." 

Buck watched him for a second, caught how carefully he moved, probably stiff from sitting in that chair all night and probably wound up from too many cups of tepid coffee. But there wasn't anything more Buck could do about it right now, so he headed for the bathroom, thinking. He liked that Chris was a little jealous, since Buck himself had been too. He'd been jealous and uncomfortable and hard as a rock when he'd watched Chris fucking Vin with such concentration. Fortunately he'd gotten over the first two quick enough, but he could see the reasons for Chris's concern. Still, he liked more that Chris knew to trust him… and that Chris, when the right circumstances presented themselves, was just as wild as he was.

He showered fast and shaved with Chris's disposable razor so the noise of his electric doohickey wouldn't wake Chris, then slipped into their dark bedroom and gathered up his clothes. Shutting the door behind him, he dragged on his jeans in the hall, not too worried about getting caught by anybody but Mel, but Mel wasn't here yet. He would be soon, if he stayed true to form. 

"Vin?" Buck called into the dining room where Vin had taken up residence in the chair before the monitors.

"Yeah?" Vin called back, quiet and without turning his head. 

"Hey," Buck said, low, "we're all right, you hear me? I've already got one man who thinks too much, I don't need another one." 

"Well you don't have another one," Vin growled, "so don't worry about it." Vin turned then. "Don't do that again, Buck. He don't like it, and I ain't gonna be the cause of any more trouble around this place, you hear me?"

He kept his voice pitched low, for which Buck was glad; they'd learned already that they hadn't insulated for sound nearly as well as they should have when they'd remodeled the house, and already he heard Josiah stirring in the living room. JD would be out soon too, probably. Buck tiptoed across the room and leaned against the desk to Vin's left, taking the complaint seriously. "Chris," he said, "isn't sure if he likes it enough or too much. And you don't know me as well as I like to think you do, Vin, if you think I'd do anything to hurt that man."

Vin's look of surprise placated him a little, and he just stared down at him, letting him see everything on his face, every bit of his devotion to his partner… and his attraction to the man in front of him. When Vin flushed a little, Buck felt a grin tug at his lips. At least a part of his message had been received. 

"I'm not kidding you now, just so you know," he told Vin. "Chris and me, we just talked about that very thing, made sure we know where we stand with each other. I guess all that matters now is where you stand, Vin. You're not planning on trying to cause us any trouble, are you?"

Vin frowned and glanced toward the monitors, his glance and his face covering all the trouble he'd brought with him from Wyoming. But Buck shook his head. "Not that kind of trouble. We like you, Vin. I'd like to think however all this mess shakes out we'll still like you, still appreciate the chance you've given us to clear up Sarah's and Adam's murders. Still appreciate the fun we had, the fun we'll probably have again before you head back home. If you want it." 

Vin shifted in his chair and dropped his arm down into his lap, and Buck could understand that masculine reaction to the idea; he was pretty quick off the mark himself. "Do you ever stop jawing, Buck? Damn, you'd talk a man to death if he let you," Vin grumbled, but Buck wasn't having any of it. 

"When it's important, yeah. And this, it's important. I want to know we understand each other, Vin." He crouched down a little and tilted his head, waiting for eye contact. When he got it, he said, "Do we?"

Vin stared at him for a long minute, waging some war inside himself that Buck was damned sure he wasn't going to share. But eventually he nodded. "Yeah, we understand each other."

"And you don't mind me showing you my appreciation, do you?"

Vin grimaced. "Long as you don't show it too much. I get blue balls from all your antics, I'll be blaming you." 

Buck chuckled. "I think you'll be okay." He reached out and slapped Vin on the shoulder. "Come help me make breakfast, nobody's gonna try anything in broad daylight."

Vin, with one last look at the monitors, stood up and followed him into the kitchen. 

They moved easily around each other even though for the most part, Buck restrained his baser urges. He thought Vin guessed that he was, because every now and again a sly grin, filled with amusement, would flash his way, but Vin didn't say anything so Buck didn't either. 

Buck wasn't the kind of cook Chris was, could just barely pull together an edible breakfast for two if he watched the frying pan like a hawk to keep the eggs and meat from burning. But Vin, he was a real pro with the spatula; all that living by himself had made him so, Buck guessed. Buck took command of the biscuit pans and played assistant, pulling out bacon and sausage, dicing and crumbling on the cutting board he shared with Vin, then breaking a dozen and a half eggs into a big bowl and shredding cheese for Vin's scramble. 

"You think you'll get anything out of Fox?" Vin asked while he fried up the meat. 

"I hope so," Buck said. "Fox, he's a tough son of a gun. But he's been sitting up there for over a week now, so maybe he's been stewing on it."

"Don't seem likely," Vin offered, "not if he's been sitting up there quiet for the last few years."

Buck shrugged, then grinned, flirting just a little. "I've got a way with people," he teased, but Vin smiled all pretty and nodded. 

"That you do, Buck. That you do. Go and wake up the boys, it'll be ready in just a few minutes."

Buck slipped into JD's room quietly so he wouldn't disturb Chris next door. Nathan was already up, scratching at his hair and blinking owlishly out the window. He nodded to Buck, sighing. "Everybody up?" he whispered. 

"Getting that way," Buck said. JD was still buried in the blankets, just the fingers of one hand and the very top of his head poking out. "Hey," Buck whispered. "JD. Time to get up."

Nothing. He shook JD's shoulder, and winced when JD came up cussing. "Ow! Damn it, what the hell are you doing?" he yelped.

"Quiet down!" Buck hissed at him. "Chris is still asleep. And sorry about that," he added in afterthought. Raine had told them all that the doctors had done a good job, that the wound was clean and the surgery skillful. It surprised Buck that JD was still hurting this much. "You healing up all right, kid?" he asked, contrite. "Don't seem like you should still be so sore," he added when JD glared at him, all big sleepy eyes and marks from the pillow creases pink on his face. 

"I'm not, when people don't go grabbing at it," he snarled, holding his shoulder defensively. 

Buck caught Nathan's look of concern and knew JD would get his wound looked at before he was allowed to get dressed, so he didn't worry too much about it. "I said I was sorry. Now come on, rise and shine. Vin's getting breakfast ready." 

He slipped out, snicking the door shut behind him, and stopped by the living room couch. "Josiah?" he whispered. "You awake yet?"

"I'm getting there," Josiah said through a yawn. "That bacon I smell?" 

"Sure is. Vin's scrambling everything up." He squeezed Josiah's shoulder just to make sure he stayed awake, and walked quietly on up to Ezra's room. Once there he threw the door open hard enough to make it bang against the wall and launched himself at the bed, tackling Ezra and rolling him off onto the floor. "Up and at 'em!" he laughed, not too loud. "We're burnin' daylight here!"

Ezra hadn't even tried to struggle and he wasn't now. He just lay sprawled on the floor, twisted up in the blankets, and thumped his head back against the floor a couple of times. "If you ever do that again, I'll shoot you," he said, and ruined the threat with a yawn.

Buck punched him on the chest, just a friendly tap, and climbed off Ezra and to his feet. "Come on, get a move on."

"And what, pray tell, is so goddamned important that you had to do… that?" 

"Nothing," Buck admitted, still laughing. "Just seemed like a good idea."

Ezra groaned, loud and long. "I'm going to kill you one day," he said as he picked himself up off the floor. "I really, really am. Don't think for a second that your attack will go unpunished." 

"All bark and no bite," Buck teased him. "Come on, breakfast's ready." 

He strolled out of the room while behind him, he heard the rustle of bedclothes and Ezra's low voice saying, "No breakfast is worth this." 

He got back to the kitchen in time to set out a stack of paper plates by the stove; Vin was just about ready to start scooping out his scramble. "I took the biscuits out already," Vin said, jerking his head toward the counter. "Chris getting up?"

"Thought I'd give him a few more minutes," Buck admitted. He waited until enough people had ambled in that the coffee pot was empty, then started a fresh pot, sipping at his own coffee and grinning at how wiped out most of the guys looked. Only Vin, the one who hadn't slept at all, looked okay, which made Buck more than a little envious. As soon as enough water drained through the grounds to weaken it enough for his partner's tastes, Buck poured a cup and carried it in to Chris. 

Chris had flopped onto his belly in sleep and clutched at Buck's pillow now, looking like an exhausted little kid. Buck smiled at the picture, taking it in, watched as Chris's lashes fluttered, and then his nose wiggled; he was definitely sniffing out the coffee. 

"Mmmmm, tha' coffee?" Chris mumbled. 

"You know it is," Buck said and eased down onto the edge of the bed. Chris was tempting, all rumpled and sleepy, but Buck knew he'd be too tired to appreciate any effort… hell, they both were. Still, he set the cup on the bedside table and carded his fingers through Chris's soft hair. 

Chris leaned into the touch. "How long have I been asleep?" he asked.

"Not anywhere near long enough," Buck replied, adding, "Little over an hour." 

Chris sucked in two big breath and pushed him self up on his hands. "Where'd it go?" he asked, blinking at Buck's empty hands. 

Buck chuckled and retrieved the cup, holding it hostage for a quick kiss. "Breakfast's on. You want us to save you some?"

Chris gulped down three big swallows and sighed. "No, I'm getting up."

Buck had known he would. "Okay, hurry up before they eat everything." 

Chris dragged ass out just as Buck was finishing his breakfast, refilling his cup first thing before he grabbed a plate and scooped the last of Vin's eggs onto it. "You ought to go back to bed, Chris," Buck told him. 

"After we catch these guys," Chris said. 

Great. Buck didn't have to stand around and watch. "I'm about ready to head out."

"Off on your wild goose chase?" Ezra asked. 

"I sure hope not." He threw his empty plate in the trash. "Thanks for breakfast, Vin."

"Sure." 

"Hey JD, walk me out."

JD squeezed out of the bench beside Ezra's chair. "Yeah, Buck?" he said when they got to the door. 

"I need you to keep an eye on Chris today, okay?" Buck whispered, looking back up the hall where Chris was still holding up the counter by the coffee pot. 

"Sure. Uh, what am I looking for?"

Buck wondered how to explain it. "Call me if he seems like he's getting too mad, if he picks a fight with Mel, stuff like that."

JD shrugged. "Okay." 

"Thanks, JD," he said, and meant it. Then he slipped out the door. 

Traffic had thinned out by the time he reached the 285, so he stayed on the 400 and picked up I-75. Scott State Prison wasn't too far away, just a couple hours' drive, and he called ahead to let them know he'd be coming. He parked as close to the guard tower as he could and kept an eye out on his way into the building, checking his gun, permit, and ID with the guy at the desk. 

Fox came out pretty quick. "Hey there, Tim," Buck said, standing to shake his hand. 

Fox looked at it for a long moment before he finally reached out and shook. "Wilmington, isn't it?"

"I'm surprised you remembered." 

"I'm not likely to forget one of the guys who put me in here."

"I can't say I'm sorry for that, Tim, and you can call me Buck." He sat down, waited for Fox to do the same, then leaned forward, propping his elbows on the table. "Listen, you know why I'm here."

"I've got nothing to say to you," he said. "I already told Larabee the same thing." 

"I know, and I understand your reasons," Buck said. "But this is important, Tim. It ain't just about you and me, and it ain't just about Chris Larabee." Even though that was pretty much all Buck cared about. "We've got a man from Texas ordering murders left and right, and we've got a man a lot closer to home who might be doing the same."

"And how is that my problem?"

Buck shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine. If trouble comes, you think it won't come your way too?"

Fox looked around to the other tables in the visitors' room. Some of them, not many, had prisoners and visiting family members or girlfriends at them. When Fox spoke his voice was lower, more careful, and he leaned in to do it. "I mind my own business, Wilmington," Fox said. "Nobody bothers me, I don't bother nobody." 

Buck matched Fox's pose and tone as he pulled out the booking photo of Cletus Fowler. "He one of the people you don't want to bother?" he almost whispered, sliding the sheet across the table. 

Fox looked at it and tensed; he knew Fowler, all right. "I thought you guys were after some cowboy from Texas."

"We are, in a way. But this guy, we think he's working with James. We think he's the one responsible for killing Chris's family."

"Then go find him and leave me the hell alone."

Buck just looked at him, thinking maybe this had been a wasted trip. Still, eighty percent of an investigation was separating the dead ends from the hard leads. "Tim. They patted me down before they let me in here. This isn't official. Right now I'm just a guy trying to stop people getting killed." 

"I've got my own insurance," Fox said. 

"Yeah?" Buck raised his eyebrows, inviting more. "Come on, Tim, it's not gonna hurt you to help me."

"Yeah," Fox said cryptically, "it is." 

"Well look at it this way, if we're bringing down Fowler, we could be helping you. I mean, you've already called the feds so you've gotten yourself involved."

Fox huffed out a laugh. "I'm not a fool, Wilmington. Larabee comes to see me, he makes insinuations. I wanted to be sure the feds knew I had nothing to do with whatever he was talking about."

Buck leaned back in the plastic chair, eyeing him thoughtfully. "But the feds aren't gonna believe that, Tim," he said easily. "Especially once we figure out your association with Fowler. And we will." It was just a hunch, but Buck knew he was on the right track. "If Fowler heard from somebody—Chris, say, or even me—that you were helping us out, you might not be so cozy in here."

Fox stiffened, bristling a little. "I don't help cops, asshole." 

"I'm not a cop," Buck said. "But I am an interested party, and we are going to find Fowler. You help me now, and I promise you we'll forget to mention your name when we're asking around."

"And if I don't?"

Buck shrugged. "I'm not above using a little persuasion to get your help, Tim," he said frankly. "I think you know that." He gave Fox a minute to think it over, waiting him out, and didn't smile when Fox slumped in his chair. 

"He said he'd take out my family, all right?" Fox said bitterly. "Starting with my wife and kids, then working his way up the family tree. I've got grandparents out there, Wilmington. My family's important to me." 

So were lots of people's. Chris's had been. Buck schooled his features, kept his voice smooth and easy. "Then you've got a reason to help me. C'mon, Tim, all we need is to know where Fowler is. We'll do the rest—and we'll leave you out of it." 

"I don't know where he is," Fox grunted. 

"But you've got some guesses, right?"

Fox glared at him. "Let's just be clear, okay? You get me caught up in this shit again and I'll come after you and Larabee. What happened to his wife and kid will look like a Sunday barbeque."

Buck pulled his hands under the table to keep Fox from seeing them clench into fists. He wasn't easy to real anger, but he wasn't much good at hiding it when it did rise up. "I agree with you, Tim," he grated, "we should be clear. If anything happens to Chris or to me, you won't stay alive in here long enough to hear about it." 

Fox held up his hand, rock-steady. "I'm shaking, man," he said, and Buck was across the table at him fast, grabbing his outstretched hand and bending it back before the guard observing could think about getting to him. He didn't break it, just used enough force that Fox half-collapsed in his chair to keep the bones from snapping. 

Buck didn't let the guard get close enough to push him off, just let go and dropped back into his seat, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "Sorry. He just got mouthy. I lost my temper for a second."

"You okay?" the guard asked Fox. 

Fox, rubbing at his wrist, nodded. "I'm fine. Leave us alone." 

Annoyed, the guard backed off and Buck repeated his threat. "I'm not a cop anymore, Tim, and as much as you care about your family, I care about what happens to Chris. It won't weigh on my conscience to bribe that very guard," he said, pointing to the guy who had returned to his corner, "to cut you open from neck to balls with a blunt knife. So don't try and make any more enemies than you already have." He put his hands back on the table, palms pressed flat against it. "Now, are we gonna help each other, or am I going to make your stay in this prison a whole lot shorter?" 

"What, are you and Larabee queer or something?" Fox asked, still rubbing at his wrist. 

"Yeah," Buck nodded, "we are. So watch your mouth."

Fox's mouth quirked into a grin, sly and amused. "Well I'll be damned," he said, and laughed shortly. His eyes flicked back down to the photograph. "You know his name?"

Fox obviously did, but needed an idea of just how far along Buck was. He was okay with that. "Fowler," Buck said. 

Fox nodded. "Yeah. He spends time in Brunswick, I don't know where. But he keeps intelligence on all his enemies, and most of his friends. It's probably there somewhere." 

"Brunswick's a big town. I need more than that." 

Fox eyed the picture again, then reached to flick it back across the table to Buck. "There's a bar in Macon," he said quietly. "Some of my old people use it. Fowler moved in, stirring up trouble and eating into my territory. He's there all the time, or so I hear."

"That what it was seven years ago?" Buck asked. "A turf war?" 

Fox nodded. "Yeah. And I didn't kill Larabee's family. I've got rules." 

Buck snorted. The drug dealer had a code of conduct. He'd heard stranger things. "All right," he said then. "What's the name of the bar?" 

Buck left considerably happier than he'd been when he went in, but he kept an eye out on the way to his car, and dropped to one knee to check under the chassis. He was pretty sure that "too careful" didn't exist in this game. But it was clear, no drips of oil or brake fluid, and there were no scrape marks on the door locks or the ignition when he got in. He took a breath anyway, then turned the key, and she started up with a contented-sounding, throaty purr. 

He pulled out his cell phone and dialed while he backed out of the parking space. Chris's phone went straight to voicemail, so either he'd forgotten to put it on the charger this morning or he was in a foul mood. Buck hung up and called Ezra.

"Standish," Ezra said. "Good hunting?"

"Very," Buck told him. "I'm headed over to Macon and could use some backup." 

"Pick me up." 

"Ezra," Buck huffed, "I am not driving back up to Atlanta and then turning around and coming all the way back down here just so you can work another hour on the phones. Get your ass in your car and make the calls from there." He wasn't going to make a round trip just for Ezra's financial gain, but he wasn't going to go in alone either; he'd kill Chris if Chris tried it, especially with the danger they were all in right now. 

He heard papers rustling and guessed before Ezra said it that a negotiation was underway. "Is there a reason you can't ask Josiah to do this for you? He won't complain as much as I promise you I will."

Ezra had a point. "I thought he was out hunting down skips," Buck admitted. 

"He left early and got back just a few minutes ago. Here, I'll let you talk to him."

"Ezra—" it was too late. Ezra was already on the move, his cell phone clicking and jostling and finally changing hands. 

"'Lo, Buck," Josiah said.

"Josiah. Listen, I've got a lead I want to follow up in Macon, but I need some backup. You mind driving down?"

"Not a bit. Meet you for lunch if you can hold out that long. Pig in a Pit has great barbeque."

Buck looked at his watch. "If I can't wait, I'll get a head start on you," he promised. He took a second to get his bearings, and turned north for Milledgeville where he could pick up the 49, thinking about Tim Fox and Cletus Fowler, about what kind of competition they must have been for each other. It was strange that Buck didn't know the guy's name, if he was running drugs—but it had been a long time, now. Maybe Fowler was just that careful.

It was a straight shot across, with Macon almost directly southwest of Hardwick, and about half an hour later he turned off the state road and started cruising the city streets of Macon, trying to remember where Pig in a Pit was. It had been a while since he'd been down this way, and with the windows down he remembered why. The further south you went, or the further out of the foothills of the mountains, the hotter it got, and the wetter. By the time he found the place and parked in an open lot without any shade trees, he felt like he was sitting in a sauna. 

They kept the iced tea in a big metal urn right on the counter, and refills were free. Buck sucked his first cup dry just standing there so he wouldn't have to walk back from a table. He bought a local newspaper, laughing at the fact that a new cinema 6-plex was enough news in this town to get an article on the front page. It was below the fold, but still. Small towns and big dreams… he was pretty sure he could have scored with at least one lonely waitress before Josiah showed up. He didn't swing that way anymore though, so he kept his smiles friendly and his eyes on her face. 

Josiah showed up just about the time Buck had decided to go ahead and order lunch. "Josiah," he said, sliding out of his little bench seat. "I was just about to order."

"Good. Get two of whatever you're getting as long as it's pork," he said, and peeled off for the restrooms. Buck ordered the hungry man plate: coleslaw, baked potato, and what looked like a pound of pulled pork in the photograph behind the counter, and another iced tea. 

"It's free refills," the girl at the register said, looking at his cup.

He laughed gently. "I don't think my appetite's quite big enough for two of those plates, darlin'. I've got a friend just joined me."

He got back to his table the same time Josiah did, and Josiah started in without preamble. "So what have you learned?"

Buck leaned in. "Fox is scared," he said. "Real scared. It took reminding him that if we got Fowler some of his own worries might get taken care of too." 

"He gave you a name?"

"He's not that scared," Buck said. "He said Fowler keeps good records somewhere in Brunswick, though. We need to find out where. And he gave me the name of a place. It's a country-western bar and restaurant, real shit-kicking kind of place from the way he described it. I figured we'd ask around, show people Fowler's picture."

"Sounds good." The waitress appeared then with their plates, and sure enough it looked like enough food on that plate to fill up even JD. "Right after we eat," Josiah added with a grin. 

The Kickin' Mule was everything Buck had hoped it wasn't, with dark dirty walls and too many saddles and tack hanging from open beams. "Nice," Josiah muttered. "Bet the service is good." 

Buck laughed beside him, then tapped Josiah's arm when he spotted the bartender. "Let's start with him." 

Buck bellied up to the bar with Josiah right behind, and laid the picture of Fowler down. "We're looking for a guy," he said. 

The bartender barely glanced at the photograph, but close enough that Buck figured he could tell it was from a booking sheet. "Things go on in here are private. Get out." 

"Just tell us if you know the man," Buck said, keeping his tone light. He turned and leaned his elbows back on the bar counter. "Anybody?" he called out, and heads turned, afternoon drinkers who looked like they wanted to be left alone. 

"My god, you don't hear too good, do you?" 

Buck was a man of great patience, and he'd had no intention of roughing a stranger up until the bartender reached under the bar and Buck caught a glimpse of a sawed-off shotgun. He made a long-armed grab across the counter and grabbed him by the lapels, dragging him down and across the bar to land in a heap on the floor. The shotgun fell to the rubber mats behind the bar with a muted thump.

"Nice trip?" Josiah asked the guy, like he was commenting on the summer weather. 

Buck stepped on his chest. "You want to try this one more time?" he asked, trusting Josiah to keep an eye on the other patrons. That shotgun wasn't legal, so Buck figured he didn't have much to worry about. The rest of the people in the bar had turned to watch, but they stayed in their chairs and kept drinking. 

"Yeah. Yeah, sure."

"You know the guy in that picture?" Buck asked. 

"I think so. He comes around once in a while. I don't know from where." 

"Well think," Buck said, putting a little more weight on his leg.

"I don't know!" The guy wheezed, obviously having trouble breathing with most of Buck's weight on his chest. 

"You catching a cold there, mister?" Josiah asked, solicitous, and Buck almost laughed. 

"I don't know where he's from. He comes around sometimes." The bartender grabbed at Buck's ankle to try and unseat him. Buck just pushed harder. 

"When was the last time he came around?" Buck asked. 

"Few… few days ago, I don't know why. He ordered his drink, wiped down his glass before he let me pour. Left not long after." 

"Wiped down his glass?" Buck looked to Josiah, who raised his eyebrows. 

"Yeah. He's a germophobe or somethin'. Real neat." 

It seemed like maybe this guy was telling the truth. Buck took his foot off him, then reached a hand down to help him up. Once he was on his feet, Buck tightened his grip on the guy's arm and dragged him close. "He comes back around, I'd appreciate it if you'd give me a call." Then he smiled and pulled out a pen to write his cell number on a bar napkin. 

Buck went around the bar to retrieve the sawed-off shotgun and held onto it while they showed the picture around but got no takers, even when Josiah opened his wallet. So nobody was even willing to lie and say they'd seen Fowler in exchange for cash; he must have this place buttoned down tight. 

"Want a beer?" Josiah asked him when they were done, and grinned. "I figure the service will be pretty good now." 

Buck laughed at that, but decided he'd rather hit the road and avoid rush hour traffic around Atlanta. Once in the car, he remembered to call Chris. 

"Hey," Chris said. 

"Hey yourself. Guess where we are?"

"Yeah," Chris muttered, "I'm in the mood for that." 

Buck smiled. "We just left a friendly little country bar called 'The Kickin' Mule' in Macon. It's a place Fowler seems to like frequenting."

He could tell from the next words that he had his partner's full attention. "You found him?"

"No," Buck admitted. "But it's worth checking back. The bartender knew him and wasn't much interested in talking to us." 

"You should stay there," Chris said, "see if he shows."

"Hell, Chris, I figure Fowler knew we were there before we got back to the car. He's not just gonna stick his head up for us to chop it off."

"Then what the hell did you expect to accomplish going down there?" Chris demanded. Chris was in a mood all right, and Buck was surprised JD hadn't called him to intervene by phone. 

"Beating the bushes," Buck chided him, because it was obvious. "I'm gonna check back tomorrow, see if I can find somebody willing to talk. Josiah and me are headed back home right now."

"Where are you?"

"Still in Macon. I'm taking Josiah back to his car. I'll be home in two or three hours, depending on the traffic."

"All right. I'll see you later." Chris hung up without saying goodbye, and Buck just stared at the phone. Chris's moods lately were like one of those bouncing balls on a string, and damned if Buck could guess from one minute to the next what state he'd be in.

"Chris not happy?" Josiah asked. 

Buck glanced over at him, looking for the joke, but it seemed Josiah was serious. "He'll be happy when we get Fowler behind bars or in a pine box."

"I guessed as much. Go easy with him, Buck." 

Buck shot him a sharp look. "You saying I haven't been?" 

"No. I'm saying go easy with him."

"Shit." Most of the time, Josiah didn't talk just to hear himself. Oh, he could, but it didn't sound like this. 

They backtracked in Buck's car so Josiah could pick up his Astro Van. Then they followed each other back until they hit the exit for Locust Grove and Josiah's turn signal went on. Buck followed him, out of habit as much as anything else by this point; it just didn't seem like a good idea for any of them to be on his own, especially after he and Josiah had just been poking the hornet's nest. 

Josiah was just looking for coffee and cheap gasoline, so Buck stayed by his car, parked on the edge of the gas station's pavement, and put in a call to Mel Sullivan. 

"Hey, it's Buck Wilmington," he started. "How's it going up there?"

"Where are you?"

"Locust Grove. Don't ask," Buck said on a grin. 

"Don't worry," Mel replied, as sarcastic as ever. "We're making progress," he said before Buck could ask. "Don't you ask me either because I don't really know what I've got yet."

"All right. How about we meet up in the morning, go over what you've got?"

"I'm assuming Larabee will tell you what he already tried to beat out of me?"

Buck laughed. "He bein' a pain?"

"Does he know how to be anything else?" Mel groused. 

That thought sobered Buck up a little, and he sighed. "He's… it's all too close to him, Mel. Sorry if he's giving you grief." And he was sorry, and more than willing to try and smooth the feathers Chris had likely ruffled. 

"Forget about it. I've read the cold case files on Connelly." 

Of course he had. Buck pushed up his sunglasses to squeeze at the bridge of his nose. It had all been so much history until a week ago, and now it was right up in all their faces, even the rest of the team's, people who'd never known Sarah or Adam as more than photographs on a mantel and shadows in Chris's eyes. 

"Buck?" 

Mel's voice sounded far away, and he wondered what shadows the man would see in his own eyes. "I'm here. Just drifted off for a second."

"You're not getting into any trouble, are you?"

"Hell, no! Askin' around, taking illegal firearms from badass bartenders—"

"Stop. Just don't tell me." Buck heard the sigh before Mel added in a grumble, "It's probably better if I don't know." 

Buck didn't think he'd done anything too shady, just gone looking for a man's whereabouts and defending himself, and he said as much. "I'm not gonna do anything to keep you up nights, Mel," he assured. "Don't worry."

"I've got a wife who wants to divorce me and a 12-year old son who thinks calling me 'dad' is demeaning. Trust me, Buck, I've got bigger worries than you."

Buck laughed at that, an honest laugh that lifted some of the shroud of memory off him. "You coming up tomorrow?"

"Yeah. I think it's time to collect my stuff and get on with these investigations at the office."

"All right," Buck said, surprised. "You're welcome to hide out up at the house as long as you want, though." 

That earned him a laugh, and they rang off just as Josiah came back out of the store with a huge cup of coffee. "You ready to get on home?" Buck asked. 

"Yeah. Think I'll head back into the office for a few more hours. Less tension there."

Buck nodded somberly; Josiah was right about that. 

He followed Josiah until they got to the 285 interchange, but traffic was light enough that Buck figured he could squeeze through downtown if he was quick about it. He put the pedal to the floor and eased past Josiah's Astro Van with a honk and a wave, and was past the 20 before the early commuters started clogging the lanes. Still, it was slow enough that he ended up in third gear and cursed himself for not taking the loop, but it was a little late for second-guessing. So he turned on the radio, jumping stations until he found rock and roll hard and loud enough to drown out the engines all around him, and added his own voice to the mix. 

Even with traffic, it was a pretty enough day and he felt like he'd accomplished something besides hanging around and cooling his heels. So he was in a good mood when he turned off the state road and stopped to use the remote they'd rigged on the gate. He was looking forward to getting home, to seeing Chris, checking on JD, maybe flirting a little with Vin, he realized with a grin, and shook his head at himself. Chris was right; he was a horndog and ought to get a grip on himself. 

It just seemed so much more entertaining to try and get a grip on Chris. Or Vin. And if he was trying to take his mind off old pains with a little fleeting pleasure, who could blame him for that? 

Vin's truck blocked the part of the drive that turned under the carport, and Buck caught sight of the new damage. Damn, he hadn't noticed it when he'd left this morning, and it had been too dark to see it last night, but a line of bullet holes cut an arc across the driver's side of the truck bed. Buck would bet he'd find the bullets inside the body somewhere, or rolling around in the truck bed if they'd punched through both sheets of metal, and was about ready to call a forensics team when he realized Chris's car wasn't in the yard. 

He'd check inside first, make sure JD or Chris—or Vin—hadn't already arranged a forensics sweep of the truck. 

"Hey!" he called, letting himself in. JD stood just inside the living room, his gun in his hand but pointing at the floor. "Hey, kid, how're you doing?"

"Don't be mad," JD started.

Too late. Just the sound of JD's voice spoke of evil deeds and guilt. "What'd you do?"

"I didn't do anything! Really, I... didn't." JD stopped, and swallowed. 

"What didn't you do?"

JD's eyes shifted to the floor. "I didn't call you when Chris went off the deep end." 

Five minutes later, Buck decided he was going to have to be really nice to Vin Tanner if he wanted to get laid anytime soon, because he was going to kill Chris. Throttle him with his bare hands. Beat the green right out of his eyes. "He did what?" Buck asked again, really needing to hear this. 

"He uh, he went to Jacksonville." JD really did look guilty as hell, and Buck could guess the kind of persuasion Chris had used on the kid, but it wasn't helping his temper much. "To chase down a lead he got from Travis," he said helpfully. 

Buck could just bet. Holding up a hand to shut JD up, Buck paced in carefully measured steps back out to his car, got in, started the engine, and turned the radio down low. Then he pulled out his phone and hit the speed dial. 

"Hey," Chris said.

"Hey yourself," Buck said. "How's it going?"

"Fine." Nothing, not even a hint that Chris wasn't sitting inside their goddamned house right now, and Buck cursed the new phones Chris had bought that damped down background noise almost as much as he cursed his partner. He couldn't even tell if Chris was in a car. 

"Good. Listen, I'm almost home. How's the kid holding up?"

"JD's all right. Told him to wean off his pills and I think he's finally listening. Hey, you mind stopping by the store?"

"No. Put JD on the phone for me."

Chris knew Buck pretty well, from his next words, flat and devoid of emotion. "So you're home." 

"Yes, I'm goddamned home, whereas you are in another goddamned state!" Buck turned off the engine and hauled himself out of the car so he could rant with his whole body instead of just his mouth. 

"Not exactly," Chris said, wry, and Buck thought he could hear Vin Tanner, the four-flushing sonofabitch, laughing in the background. 

"Where, exactly?"

"Not far from Valdosta," Chris said. "You know," and there was a hint of amusement in his voice that Buck didn't appreciate one bit, "I was worried for a little bit that we were gonna pass each other on the 75." 

"I'm gonna kill you," Buck warned his partner. "What the hell happened to not going off the deep end?"

"Relax," Chris said, in that easy way that made Buck just want to hit him harder. A tiny piece of him was glad Chris was so fucking far away right this minute. "I'm not doing anything you didn't do in going to Macon. And I took Vin with me, so I'm not haring off by myself." 

"Oh yeah, that makes me feel better," Buck sniped at him. "Did you even think before you left JD alone up here?" he hissed. "He's shot and he's a kid and if someone had tried to storm the house—"

"They'd have missed me," Chris cut him off, "so stop harping at me. JD's fine, I called three different law enforcement jurisdictions before I left, and he's been getting visits from uniforms all afternoon. Go ahead, Buck, ask him."

Buck wasn't going to ask JD anything right now. Because that little scene wouldn't be a pretty one and Buck would probably regret it later. Maybe. "How about I just ask you a few things, Larabee?" he demanded. "Starting with what the hell you think you're gonna find in fucking Florida." 

"Fowler," Chris said, like it was obvious. "Or information on him. He skipped a misdemeanor court appearance two days ago, probably courtesy of us distracting him. I'm going down to pull records, log us into the bail enforcement, and learn what I can from the locals."

"Chris, if you get yourself killed—" Buck stopped, and held his breath for a long moment, because the possibility was too real to offer empty threats about. "If you get yourself killed," he said, softer, "you'll leave me just like Sarah left you. But you'll have walked into the line of fire on purpose. You think about that for me, okay?"

"Buck—"

He hung up the phone. 

He had running shoes in the trunk of his car, and he popped it to pull them out. He wasn't going back inside yet, and while a piece of him knew it was damned stupid to go for a run alone on the road, a bigger piece of him needed to do something before he blew a blood vessel and gave himself an aneurism. Still dressed in the jeans he'd been wearing all day and the belt holster that weighed heavily at the small of his back, he took off at a run down the drive. 

He hadn't gotten far when he heard the throaty growl of his own car behind him, and turned his head to look without breaking stride: JD. Though how the kid was shifting was something best not thought about. Buck turned face-on to the traffic and kept running, picking up his pace, pushing himself hard enough that maybe he'd outrun how he'd felt when Chris had come so damned close to killing himself all those years ago, and how he'd felt again a week ago when Orrin Travis had shown him the pictures Vin had left in his care. 

Revenge wasn't worth what this could cost them… he slowed down from a run to a jog, and after another quarter-mile or so, to a walk. JD had been pacing him the whole way, but now he pulled up alongside Buck on the wrong side of the road. "Buck…"

"Get out," Buck ordered him, "I'll drive back." 

He'd only run three miles or so, but he'd done it fast enough that his shirt was stuck to his back and even his jeans had dark, sweaty patches in the crotch. JD climbed out of the car, meek as a kitten, his semi-automatic still in his left hand and Buck thought that maybe JD was being a little smarter than he was right now. 

Hell, he knew it. "Thanks, kid," he said, meaning it, and pulled up the neck of his tee shirt to sop the sweat off his face. 

"I'm sorry, Buck," JD said, whining a little. 

"I know you are, kid," he said, and slid in behind the wheel, bumping his knees against the steering column until he could push the seat back. His gun dug into his backbone and he reached to tug it out of the soft leather holster. "Just… just don't say anything for a few minutes, okay?"

JD's reply was barely audible, meek. "Okay." 

By the time they'd found a neighbor's driveway to turn around in and gotten back up to the farm and JD still hadn't said a word, Buck was feeling guilty. "Okay kid, I'm okay." He tugged at his shirt where it stuck to his belly. "I need a shower. And then I need you to tell me everything I missed today. All right?"

JD nodded, looking guilty as hell. "Yeah, all right." 

Buck figured Chris had told JD he could come clean when Buck got home anyway, which didn't make him feel particularly appreciative. Still. He knew how Chris could get, knew JD admired the hell out of the man—even when he didn't deserve it and pulled stupid stunts like he had today. "The police been coming by regular?" he asked as he climbed out of the car.

"Every hour on the hour," JD said. "I don't know who Chris called before he left, but they've been real nice. Those lady cops came by twice, even stayed for a few minutes both times. Some other guys came by twice too, but they just knocked on the door."

At least he wouldn't have leaving JD in the lurch to blame on his partner. "That's good. Give me a few minutes." 

He stripped off as he strode down the hall, leaving his clothes where they fell, turned on the shower and stepped in before it had time to get hot. The chill water was like getting hit on his overheated body with a brick; he sucked in air through his teeth and stood there, let it give him something else to think about besides worst-case scenarios or the really enticing picture of beating Chris black and blue in the back yard. Chris was too far south, and Buck knew better than to think he could talk Chris into coming back before he'd done whatever he'd set out to do. 

By the time the water warmed up enough to wash his hair, Buck thought maybe he'd gotten himself under control. He took his time, wondering how long he had before the cops did another drive-by, and when he climbed out he used Chris's towel to dry himself, considered using Chris's toothbrush which the man hated with an unreasonable passion, but in the end he just dragged on a clean pair of jeans and padded out into the hall. 

JD sat in the dining room, staring at the monitors, his shoulders hunched in. "Hey kid," Buck said, "want a beer?"

"Uh, yeah?"

Buck couldn't help the little chuckle that slipped out. Poor guy had gotten himself well and truly caught between a rock and a hard place. "Okay. Come on in the kitchen and tell me everything." 

W&L • W&L • W&L

Chris got maybe twenty miles further down the road before Vin finally opened his mouth. 

"He pissed?" Vin asked.

"Oh yeah." 

The low chuckle annoyed him, reminded him of Buck, always taking pleasure in other people's idiocies and that probably, this trip was one of Chris's. "Probably should have told him when he called at lunchtime."

"Probably," Chris said, hoping agreement would stop Vin talking. Oddly, it didn't. 

"Why didn't you, Chris? Hell, if you'd come out alone you could have picked him up on the way. You knew he was in Hardwick, at least." 

Chris kept his mouth shut and watched the miles tick by. The sun glared in the rearview and he reached to adjust it, jerking when Vin's hand caught his wrist. 

"Chris?" Chris jerked his arm away and Vin didn't try to keep his hold. "I don't want to get stuck in the middle of some power play between you two."

"You won't be. He didn't even mention you, you're not what's important here," Chris said cuttingly. 

Vin didn't react to the insult, just said mildly, "So what is important?" Chris never took his eyes off the road, or his hands off the wheel. They'd hit the interchange with the 10, almost forty miles down the road, before Vin spoke again. "What's important? Why didn't you want him coming with you?"

"This isn't his," Chris said then, surprised himself to hear the words. 

"What—you mean Fowler? Or…" Vin made the leap, and Chris was glad when he didn't say the names out loud. "Chris," he said then, his voice ridiculously soft, "it's a whole lot more his than mine."

Chris shot him a look. "That's why I don't want him here." 

Vin thought about that, past the exits to Lake City and Olustee, and almost all the way to Sanderson. "Just so we're clear," Vin said slowly, "I'll put you down as easy as I did Blackfox if you look like you're gonna start taking your revenge."

"I thought—" Chris paused, thinking about how to say it. "I thought you'd understand wanting to take revenge," he finally said. 

"I do," Vin told him. "But I don't have anything as good as you have, don't have somebody like Buck waiting for me at home." He chuckled a little. "Planning on how to kick my ass." 

"Funny," he said, not at all amused. 

"I'm serious though," Vin said smoothly. "You two, you've got something real, something good. And you're a fool to be risking it." 

Chris had worked hard to convince himself that he wasn't risking it, that this was just something he needed to do, a piece of his old life that he had to complete now that he could. It was a little harder with Vin playing his conscience in the passenger seat, a little harder not to admit just how pissed off Buck had been on the phone, and how scared, probably. Cletus Fowler felt like a ghost, invisible but ominous and hovering too close to everything Chris cared about. Sighing, Chris pulled out his cell and hit the speed dial. It rang through to voicemail and he grimaced, hung up, and dialed again. 

"What?" Buck answered. Not happy. 

"I'm sorry," he said, uncomfortable with Vin here. He didn't like apologizing at the best of times, and rarely did it with words, but he had put almost five hours between him and Buck so it was the only option he had. 

"You should be," Buck said, not making it easy. 

"Well I am!" he snapped, then sucked in a breath to calm himself. "I swear, you can piss me off like nobody else."

"Well, back at ya." 

"Yeah, yeah." He snuck a glance at Vin, who was pretending to be caught up in the view speeding by his window. "I am, though. Uh, sorry."

Buck blew out a hard breath, then said, "No, you're not. And that's—well it sure as hell ain't okay, but I knew what I was getting when I signed up with you. Just be careful. Be damned careful, Chris," Buck ordered him, his voice gruff with emotion. 

"I will." He didn't say "I promise", mostly because he knew he didn't need to. "JD fill you in?"

"Yeah, and man, that boy is in the dog house with me."

"Don't take it out on him, it's not his fault."

"Well you're not close enough for me to take it out on," Buck grumbled, "and he's next in line."

Chris had known the rough spot he was putting JD in, and hadn't cared all that much. He still didn't. "Don't say anything you'll regret," he said. "I'll call you when we're coming back."

"It better be soon," Buck said.

"Yeah," Chris promised, "it will be," and hung up. 

When he looked back at Vin this time, the man was just watching him, no amusement on his face, which saved him a whole hell of a lot of Chris's ire. He hesitated a second, then tapped the top of Vin's hand where it lay on the seat between them. "You said you'd put me down if I started looking like I'd open fire on Fowler," he said, and glanced over at Vin to catch his affirmative nod. "That's why I brought you instead of Buck." Buck would start shooting right alongside him, maybe only think about the consequences after they couldn't be avoided. "Your little parley on the deck worked, all right?" he said, uncomfortable. "I don't want to—" he didn't want to hurt Buck any more than he had to, didn't want to ruin what he had now just because he needed to even the score a little on what he'd lost. 

Vin's hand startled him when it turned under his, squeezing quickly before letting go. "Thanks," Vin said. 

Chris didn't ask him for what. 

They hit the Jacksonville City limits before Vin thought of anything else to say, and Chris followed the directions he'd scrawled on a piece of notebook paper, off the 10 and back onto the 95. The highway was congested with early evening traffic, most of it coming out of the city in the westbound lanes, and all those people going on with their lives around his car, they had no idea how fragile it was, how easily everything could change. One day, one second—

"Chris?" Chris frowned over at him. "You're uh," Vin looked uncomfortable. "You were kind of moaning."

"I was not!" Chris denied it hotly, flushing a little. He had no idea what he'd been doing, but it wasn't something as stupid as that.

"Okay, okay," Vin laughed. "You were thinking real hard there."

They were coming up on a bridge, and Chris thought for sure the sheriff's department down here was on the west side of the river. "Check the directions," he ordered. 

"Uh," Vin flipped between the little map Chris had printed off the computer and the directions he'd scrawled as the car sped across the wide expanse of slow-moving water. "Yeah, we missed a turn somewhere. If you can get on—no, wait. Just stay on the 95 til you get to… the 90, looks like. We can go on the surface streets and get to the Hart Bridge Expressway. The sheriff's office is just off the bridge on the west side of the river."

They snaked through city streets until Chris found an onramp, then drove back across the water that fairly shone with the reflection of city lights and sunset. "There it is," Chris said, pointing toward the Bay Street exit, and a minute later, the sheriff's station building. He hit the turn signal, half-wishing he'd brought Ezra instead, who if he'd tried to pry at all would have done it snidely enough that Chris could shut him up with a look or a word. But Ezra wasn't the right man for this job, and Chris had the feeling Vin was. Vin respected him, but he hadn't been willing to take too much of Chris's shit, and oddly, Chris really did trust the man to put him down like a mad dog if he started to lose all good sense. 

He half-smiled and shot Vin a look. Vin looked back, a confused frown furrowing his forehead, but Chris just shook his head. It was an odd thing to trust a man to do, to rely on a man to do. But Chris did. 

"Guns stay in the car," he said. "You might want to, too."

"What? I c'n go in."

"You're out on bail in Fulton County, Georgia. You don't really want to advertise that you're out on a hunt or out of state without permission of the court."

Vin shrugged and took Chris' handgun as he passed it over, shoving it into the glove box. "Don't much matter to me unless you got plans to break the law." He looked at Chris, hard. "And you don't, right?"

Chris shook his head. "Not inside a sheriff's office, anyway," he said with a tight grin. 

"I don't know how Buck puts up with you," Vin muttered as he got out of the car, but it was something Chris wondered from time to time too, so he let it go. 

The building was big, several stories and a huge footprint, so it took them a while to find the right room and a civilian aide. Chris handed over a business card. "We're looking for the deputies assigned to Cletus Fowler," he said, and waited while she played with her computer. "Cortez and Esteban?" she said and looked up. 

He nodded. 

"Just a minute." 

A few minutes later a guy in uniform came out to meet them. "I'm Mannie Cortez," he said. He was big, especially for a Latino, almost Buck's height and as broad through the chest as Josiah. "We've been wondering when you'd show up."

Vin raised his eyebrows but Chris ignored him; he had called before they left home, and was just glad these guys ran 12-hour shifts. "We appreciate your time. What have you got on Fowler?" 

"Not enough to merit you driving all the way down here," Cortez said mildly. "Come on back." He waved them toward the little swing gate and started walking, leaving them to follow him back to their bullpen. "John, this is Chris Larabee," Cortez said, and glanced over at Vin. "You Wilmington?"

That surprised Chris, because it meant that Cortez had looked up their company or that their reputations had preceded them. They didn't do that much work in Florida. Still, Orrin's reputation stretched across the country, and Chris supposed his and Buck's wasn't far behind. 

"No, I'm Vin Tanner," Vin said, and held out his hand. 

They sat down in the visitors' chairs and Chris edged an overflowing "out" basket enough to the side to plant his elbows on the desk. "So, Fowler?"

"He was picked up on a misdemeanor DUI in March. No accidents or injuries, but we suspended his driver's license."

"Florida?" Chris asked.

"Yeah, why?"

"Because he lives in Georgia."

Cortez looked down at Fowler's sheet. "I guess he lives a lotta places then, because we've got an address for him not two miles away." Chris tried to read the file upside down, and Cortez helped him out by spinning it around on the desk. "Why'd his bondsman call you guys?"

"He didn't," Chris admitted. It was no use lying about things that were too easy to check. "Fowler's a suspect in some violent crimes cases in Atlanta, and we try to help out when we can."

Beside him Vin just barely repressed a snicker, so Chris stepped on his boot, hard. Esteban looked suspiciously between them. "There's nothin' on the wire," he said. "We checked after we got yer call." It was the first thing Esteban had said, and his southern accent was thick with backwater good-ol' boy, no trace of what must be Cuban heritage in it. 

"He's linked to a seven year-old cold case that's pretty personal to the police up there," Chris said, then because it would cost him nothing and might gain him a little, he added, "pretty personal to me too. You can call Mel Sullivan of the Atlanta PD. He's the guy working it."

Esteban raised his eyebrows but he didn't ask, and Chris liked him for that alone. "Okay. We printed up the stuff you boys'll want. You can bet Triple-A has been by his apartment looking for him. They don't sit on their skips long. Listen…" he paused, glanced over at Cortez. "They don't typically share their local work." 

"We're not looking for a payoff on a DUI skip, fellas," Chris said. "Thanks for your time." He grabbed up the manila envelope and stood, but not before Cortez stepped around the desk and towered over him. 

"Mr. Larabee. I'm not particularly comfortable with handing you his jacket," he said. "I don't get a good feeling off you." Chris just waited, tamping down on his annoyance and biting back the three or four smart replies he wanted to offer that would have cemented Cortez's opinion of him while Cortez measured him with intelligent eyes. "Don't make our jobs harder."

"I don't plan to," he said. With any luck these guys would never have to see Cletus Fowler again. "Thanks." He held out his hand, mostly for formality's sake and to get these guys to let him go, and Cortez took it, his grip firm. "There any place nearby we can get a city map?" he asked, and Cortez nodded to Esteban. Esteban dug around in his desk drawer for a second and came up with one of those flat-sheet maps like the ones car rental agencies handed out. 

"Y'all c'n take this 'un." 

"Much appreciated," Vin said, and reached to grab it. 

"It's not too far from here," Vin said, staring at the map as they left the building. 

"Good, because that's where we're going."

Traffic was thinning out as dusk settled over the city, and Chris drove where Vin told him to until they pulled to a stop in front of what looked like an upscale condominium complex, townhouses set up with two or three units in each building. Chris grabbed the envelope he'd gotten from the locals and used the mini-flashlight on his car keys to double check the address. Then he reached across Vin to dig in the glove box, retrieving his gun and a small black leather pen case. 

"You gonna write him a note?" Vin asked, confused. 

Chris pulled the tips of the lock picks out of it and flashed them Vin's way. "Not hardly." 

Vin whistled in appreciation. "Damn, Chris!" 

Chris barely smiled. "You don't know how to pick a lock?"

"Nah," Vin replied easily. "I just break a window pane if I need to get in bad enough." 

He and Buck had too, before Ezra Standish came along. "Let's go." 

Fowler's was an end unit with windows on three sides. A light shown from what must be the hallway, but there hadn't been a car in the numbered space and Chris had the feeling nobody was home; he tilted his head toward the side of the building and walked around it with Vin following. All the curtains downstairs were drawn tight but there was a balcony in back, probably the master bedroom. 

"Give me a boost," he said, and waited for Vin to kneel down and cup his hands, then pushed off, grabbed a wood strut and chinned himself up. With a little scrabbling and Vin pushing him up by his feet, he got his hands on the iron railing and clambered over it, trying not to make too much noise. Then he listened. No movement from inside the house, as far as he could tell. The curtains here were sheer and light spilled into the room from the hallway. He could make out LEDs on a bedside clock and a TV and DVR on a shelf. The bed was made, everything he could see in neat, almost military order. He tried the French door but it was locked, so he knelt down, using his penlight again. It was a traditional lock with no deadbolt.

This was going to be almost too easy. "You can climb up or I'll let you in the front door," he called over the rail, quiet.

"I'll be round front," Vin said, and Chris caught the flash of teeth in the dark. "Don't keep me waiting long." 

"I won't," Chris said, and dropped to one knee on in front of the door. He stuck the penlight in his mouth to aim it at the doorknob and slid the picks home, tugging and turning until the tumblers lined up. The lock was heavy and hard to work loose, but after a second he had it, and stood up. The latch threw easily and he pulled the door open. 

Thick pile carpet ate up the sound of his footsteps. He headed into the hall and down the stairs, one hand in his pocket and the other holding his gun. Just in case. Air conditioning hummed, making the curtains flutter and distracting his eyes. He glanced out the peephole in the front door before throwing the lock to let Vin in. 

"You know how to secure a building?" he asked, because he had an itch between his shoulder blades and all of a sudden it seemed like a bad idea to have come down here without Buck. They'd worked together for so many years they didn't have to ask questions, didn't have to guess or wonder what the other would do or what he knew. 

"I'll back you up," Vin said, which wasn't an answer, but it would do. 

"Come on. Bottom to top, then back down. Closets, behind anything big enough to hold a man—anything."

"Yeah, all right," Vin said, whispering too now and nervous, probably picking up on Chris's own tension. 

"It's probably empty," he muttered, but he threw the chain on the front door before he turned with his gun up and they went through room by room, checking everywhere first for signs of life and then on their way back down, for signs of occupation. Vin had put his gun away by the time they got back to the kitchen, and pulled his shirtsleeve down over his hand before he opened the refrigerator. It was reasonably well-stocked, and the milk bottle was well within its buy date. A plastic bottle of fancy, flavored artificial creamer rattled on a shelf in the door. 

"He's living here then," Vin said.

Chris frowned, then traced his steps back upstairs and into the big bedroom. He relocked the French door and pulled the curtains to before he flicked on the overhead light. Everything was precisely ordered, and clean. Chris ran his knuckle across the top of the dresser and held it out to Vin. "No dust," he said, and went on into the bathroom. A toothbrush hung in a glass holder, a prescription bottle of blood pressure medicine sat in the medicine cabinet, and a used razor in rested in one of the drawers. An expensive brush and comb set lay to one side of the marble vanity, but there weren't any hairs in either, no oils to show they'd ever even been used. 

"Awfully clean."

Vin looked around, nodded. "Awful clean for anybody to really live in," he added. 

"Yeah." He chewed on the thought, looking around. "Buck said the bartender told him Fowler was a germophobe or something. Compulsively clean. You think this fits that description?" 

"Hell yes," Vin said. 

"Rifle the drawers," Chris decided. "Look for receipts, phone numbers, something that might link him to James." He was sure before they started that they wouldn't find anything. 

Half an hour later, after carefully dusting down the place wherever they'd touched, Chris snicked the front door shut. Every window was locked from the inside, so if Fowler came back he'd find his front door's deadbolt open but the knob locked. Maybe he wouldn't notice. 

Maybe it wouldn't make any difference either way. 

He had an uneasy feeling about this place, and when they got back to the car, he dropped on one knee to check underneath. After a second, he caught Vin's knees on the other side in the circle of his penlight, doing the same. "Looks all right," Vin said, low. "You mind if we get the hell out of here?" 

"You feeling something?" Chris asked him. 

"I don't know," Vin said, eying the ornamental trees that surrounded the building. 

Chris turned the engine over and backed out of the space. He had an itch between his shoulder blades that he couldn't shake off. 

"You think he's close?" Vin asked. 

Chris didn't know. He called information for Triple-A Bail bonds and asked for whoever was handling Fowler's bail, and then asked for a courtesy call if they found anything that might help him. Probably, they'd do it. Then he called Buck.

"Chris?" Buck answered the phone, sounding anxious enough that Chris tensed in the seat. 

"Everything okay up there?"

"What? Oh, far as I know. Nathan called the house a little while ago, he's hopping a plane to Orlando; Raine's in labor." 

"That's—" Chris didn't know how he felt. Glad for Nathan and Raine, a little envious, worried more now than he'd been before, and relieved that he'd kept Nathan covered so well while he'd been staying with them.

"Good, yeah," Buck said, a smile in his voice. Then, softer and filled with understanding, "I know." 

Chris swallowed. "We're done here."

"You find anything worth the trip?" Buck asked, and behind the words Chris heard that this trip was going to cost him more than gasoline and time. Buck was on a slow burn, and it was a good bet that burn would flare to conflagration once Chris's feet hit the front hall. 

"I don't know," he said, honestly confused by all of the rocks they were turning over that didn't have maggots crawling out from under them. "He's got a place down here, but…"

"Come home, Chris. We'll worry about it tomorrow."

"Yeah, all right. We should be there by," he checked his watch, "three a.m. or so."

"I'll wait up," Buck said. 

"You don't have to," Chris said, thinking about the short night Buck had already pulled, and that fact that he'd been up now for more than thirty-six hours himself.

"Oh, I'm waiting up," Buck said. "You think you're getting off that light?"

"Nothing happened, Buck," he said, annoyed. "Didn't even skin my knee." 

"You think that's what I'm pissed about?" Buck asked, his tone serious and a little surprised. 

Chris huffed out a breath of laughter, realizing. "Get some sleep, stud. I'll wake you up when I get in, you can yell at me then."

"Stop at a truck stop and catch a nap if you need to."

"You want me fresh so you'll enjoy pounding me more?"

"Something like that," Buck said, but the long sigh said something else. "Want you in one piece, Chris. Then I'll see about taking you apart." 

"All right, Buck." He hung up the phone and looked over to Vin, to tell him the news about Nathan, but the smile on Vin's face stopped him short. "What?"

Vin snorted and ducked his head. "Nothin'. Just… hell, Chris. You two…." 

Chris smiled at the words, the manly discomfort in them as much as the admiration. "Yeah. You'd better hope he gets some sleep before we get back, or you won't think we're so pretty. Buck on a tear can be—you don't want to see it if you can avoid it."

Vin chuckled. "I'll bet. Want me to drive?"

But Chris had already turned the engine over and shifted into reverse, as ready to get home now as he'd been to leave this morning. "I've got it. Maybe later, though." 

By the time they got outside the city limits, traffic had thinned out enough to nudge his speed up over the limit and cars in the southbound lanes cut huge swaths of light through the dark. The freeway lamps were set at long intervals, like the world's slowest strobe lights. That steady light-dark, light-dark and the hum of the wheels on the road lulled him, had already lulled Vin into a doze in the passenger seat. He turned on the radio west of Winfield, and Vin jerked awake. 

"Damn, must've nodded off."

"Yeah." Chris's eyes were gritty and his body ached with exhaustion, but they still had hours in front of them. He yawned. 

"You ready for me to take a turn?" Vin asked him, stretching as much as he could behind his seatbelt. 

Chris looked over at him, considering. "You awake enough?" he asked. 

"More awake than you, probably," Vin said, a grin in his voice. 

He thought about it, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. "If you're sure, then yeah." 

"I'm sure." 

He got to the state line and pulled over at the next exit, into a truck stop to fill up the tank, then slid into the passenger seat, hunkering down to try and relax. He was more used to driving than riding and for the first twenty minutes or so he was hyper-alert, but Vin's handling of the car was smooth and easy. Chris blinked and blinked again, and each time it was harder to open his eyes. After a while he let them drift shut and stay that way, and Vin turned the radio down low so that the hum of the freeway was almost louder. Soon enough, the slight shifts of light through his eyelids faded to nothing. 

A hand jostled his shoulder, stirring him awake. Momentarily disoriented, it took him a minute to remember where he was, then whose hand was shaking him. 

"Chris," Vin said, probably not for the first time. "Come on, wake up. We're back." 

He blinked and looked out the window. A heavy moon hung bright and low in the sky, and he recognized the closed gate in front of him, watched it swing open. "Home?" he asked, and coughed to clear his throat. 

"Yeah," Vin said, still quiet, "you're home." 

He pulled himself straighter in the seat and scratched his fingers through his hair, trying to wake up a little. "I slept through?" he asked, then grimaced since it was pretty damned obvious he had.

"Yeah. Prob'ly needed it." 

He had. The tires crunched up the gravel drive and Chris stared up at the house where the porch light and floodlights at the barn were on just like they'd been every night since the shooting at the office. It looked like the house was dark, so either Buck had gone to bed like Chris had suggested, or Buck was lying in wait for him in one of those dark rooms so that the rest of the boys could sleep undisturbed. 

Vin turned off the engine and let the car roll the last dozen yards, parking it behind Buck's Mustang. They followed the driveway around to the side of the house and Chris used his key to enter through the mudroom off the kitchen. He figured he could at least avoid waking up Josiah, who would be sacked out in the living room, but it was Josiah who met him in the kitchen, looking alert and relaxed enough that it was clear he hadn't been in bed. 

"Morning, Chris," Josiah said amiably when Chris stepped in. "You want some coffee?"

"Thanks," Chris said, and headed for the coffeemaker. The little light was on, the pot still half-full. "You on watch tonight?" he asked, fumbling a mug down from the cabinet. 

"Yeah. Buck still wants to keep an eye out for unwelcome guests." 

Chris nodded. "He in bed?"

"I think so," Josiah said, and it irked Chris that Josiah was acting so normal. He should have been glad of it, but he had that sense again of standing in the eye of the hurricane. And he knew some of the wind waiting for him was in their bedroom right now. "You boys find anything in Florida?" Josiah asked. 

Chris shook his head. "Dead end. We grabbed a few receipts out of a kitchen drawer, and his phone book had some numbers that we copied down." Frustration ate at him. Everywhere they looked they were coming up on dead ends or cold trails. "Probably a bust." 

"Then you'd best get some rest. Nothing more we can do tonight." He looked at his watch. "Or this morning."

Vin's jaw cracked on a yawn, then Vin mumbled, "Yeah, I think it's past time for a little shut-eye. Chris. Josiah." Chris watched him walk almost silently up the hall, his body eaten up by darkness before he turned toward his bedroom. 

The sleep on the road had done Chris some good, but he was still so tired that his temper was damned short. He looked down at his still-full coffee mug, then set it untouched on the counter. "You up for the rest of the night?" he asked Josiah. 

"I am."

"Need someone to spell you?"

Josiah shook his head. "Ezra had the watch until about two, I'm pretty fresh."

"All right," he said then. It was hard to think about facing Buck, because he knew how pissed he'd be if the shoe had been on the other foot and Buck had been the one sneaking off. But Fowler was something Chris had to deal with. He didn't feel like he had any choice in it, not if he could finally put Sarah's and Adam's killer behind bars. He kept repeating those words, "behind bars," because he hadn't lied to Vin about wanting to kill the man. Every time he got visions of murdering Fowler in cold blood, though, there Buck would be in his mind's eye, standing silent and alone. He was as torn between conflicting impulses as he'd ever been in his life.

He eased the bedroom door open and just stood in the doorway for a moment, staring. The bedside lamp was on but Buck lay half-on his belly with his head on Chris's pillow, fast asleep. He'd pushed the sheet down at some point so that now it rested just below his waist, and Buck's skin looked like burnished bronze in the lamplight. Chris heeled off his boots and shrugged out of his jacket, moving normally because skulking around would wake Buck quicker than these getting-ready-for-bed noises. Buck was like Sarah in that respect; she had been able to sleep through Adam hollering and careening through the house, even the bed she was lying in, but if Chris had tried to tiptoe through their bedroom, she'd be up like a shot and wide awake. 

Thinking about her hurt more than it had in a long while. 

Still, by the time he'd stripped to his underwear, Buck had woken up. He propped himself up on one elbow, looking sleepy and irritated. "You proud of yourself?" Buck asked him. 

"Not particularly." Chris shucked off his briefs and crawled into the bed then onto Buck, pressing him deep into the mattress and Buck, too predictable sometimes, wrapped his arms around him. 

It wasn't long before Buck was hard and thrusting up against Chris's hip, but Buck broke off a kiss to say, "You're not getting out of it that easy." 

"It wasn't that easy," Chris said, too serious for it to be a tease, and Buck sighed into his mouth and gripped his ass, hard. 

"Chris…" 

"Save it for later," Chris said softly, then grabbed the slick out of the bedside drawer and slid under the covers, down Buck's body. Buck's smell was strong down here so near his crotch, the masculine aroma caught between the sheets, and it was pitch dark. Hunched over beneath the covers Chris navigated by touch, drawing his fingers up over Buck's bony knees and the insides of his thighs then pushing them apart, kissing the juncture of thigh and groin before he angled Buck's dick up off his belly and opened his mouth for it. 

Buck groaned. 

He tasted as strong as he smelled, a dark, earthy flavor topped off with the slightly bitter precum that pearled at the tip of his erection. The taste of Buck, the smell of him, the living warmth of inner thighs splayed and tense under his hands all served to make him feel a little frenzied, and he felt around for the slick, found it and flipped the cap open, and coated his thumbs. Pushing Buck's legs up so his knees were bent and his feet planted on the mattress either side of Chris's ribs, he parted Buck's cheeks and slid both his thumbs in, kneading the tight ring of muscle while he worked his mouth back down Buck's dick. 

That got him the reaction he was looking for; Buck tensed, tightened around his thumbs and thrust up into his mouth, pushing his way down Chris's throat. If it wasn't forgiveness it was a least a little grace, a moment's respite where Chris wasn't thinking past the feel of Buck's ass clutching at his thumbs and the feel of Buck's dick stretching his mouth wide. Fingers gripped his head hard then eased up, stroking through his hair while he just swallowed and massaged inside Buck's ass, thumbs working in counterpoint to each other. He couldn't press very deep with his hands angled the way they were but then Buck was sensitive to the least stimulation inside, always had been. He let Buck guide him, riding the shallow thrusts and following the direction of Buck's hands on his head: up, down, pause, over and over until he felt Buck's dick grow impossibly harder and then Buck jerked his hips up, short, sharp jabs as his come spilled into Chris's mouth and down his throat. 

The shout Buck didn't quite succeed in stifling was probably loud enough to wake up JD next door, definitely loud enough that Josiah, in the dining room, would have heard it. Chris flushed a little at that awareness, suckling gently on Buck's erection as he eased his thumbs out of him and wiped the slick into the sheets. He was hard himself but he didn't try anything, just slid back up Buck's body and popped his head out from under the covers. 

"Feel better?" he asked. 

Buck, breathing hard, frowned at him. "Asshole." 

Chris smiled and pressed against Buck's side, tucked his head in against his partner's shoulder. "Wasted effort then," he said. 

"I wouldn't go that far," Buck said, turning to wrap long arms around him and pull him in tight. "Chris…"

He waited for it, the chastisement and the anger, but neither came. Buck dropped a heavy leg over his hip and hooked his ankle in behind Chris's knees, and within a few minutes Buck was asleep again, with Chris imprisoned against him. Over-warm, his erection throbbing against Buck's hipbone, Chris just lay there listening to the thud of Buck's heart until he dropped off to sleep.

[Index] [Previous] [Next] 

The Magnificent Seven and it characters @ MGM, the Trilogy Entertainment Group, the Mirisch Corporation and TNN, and was developed by John Watson and others.


	12. Skip Trace - What Counts As A Win: Chapter 12

SKIP TRACE: WHAT COUNTS AS A WIN  
By Charlotte C. Hill and Maygra 

Universe: Skip Trace 

Acknowledgements: Many thanks to Megan for morale and editorial support, as well as a few scenes .

Pairing/Characters: C/B, Vin, Ezra, cameos by the Nathan, Josiah & JD

Rating: NC17 (We mean, seriously...look who's writing this thing!)

Story Notes: With thanks to Megan and Maygra for getting this novel series started, and special thanks to Megan and Fara, BMP and Mardi for encouraging me to see it through. Their editing and moral support has been invaluable.

Feedback: yes, please, any kind, on or off list to charlottechill@yahoo.com and maygra@gmail.com. 

Thursday, June 7

Chris woke up alone the next morning feeling unreasonably rested. Bright sunlight peeked around the edges of the curtains and he rolled to get a bead on the clock: not quite nine-thirty. Not too late then. He stumbled out of bed and slid into his jeans and shirt from yesterday, then headed out into the house to find out what everybody was up to.  


Josiah and Vin were eating breakfast. Ezra had already finished his, just a crust of toast left on his plate while he read the newspaper at the head of the table. He looked weirdly domestic wrapped in his silk bathrobe and wearing a pair of wire-framed reading glasses that Chris had always been pretty sure were just for show, his hair more mussed than usual—very Ward Cleaver. Chris grimaced and made a beeline to the coffeemaker. Buck was out back doing chin-ups on the swing set they had slowly converted into an outdoor gym, pushing himself hard to whatever beat he was listening to; he'd stolen back his iPod and the little white headphone cords stood out against his black tank top. While Chris watched, Buck straightened his legs and stood up, moved to the rusty leg press.

"Has he been out there long?" Chris asked the room at large. 

"Long enough," Vin said around a mouthful of toast, and smirked. "Guess you didn't apologize well enough last night." 

The newspaper rustled, warning Chris before Ezra said, "Just—don't say things like that, Vin," he said with a frown. "I'm trying to pretend they're just good friends." Then to Chris, "I hope you enjoyed your little vacation." 

"Was Buck a pain?" Chris asked, knowing the answer already.

"Like you wouldn't believe," Ezra assured him, "and not without justification I might add. I'm having trouble fathoming how that man puts up with you. Or why." 

Damn, if Ezra was pissed off at him then Buck must have been driving them all crazy last night. "Me too," he said, and Ezra looked surprised that he'd admit it. 

The alarm for the gate buzzed before Ezra could snap out a smart reply, and Chris walked into the dining room to check the monitors: a brown Ford Taurus sat outside the gate, and Chris could just make out the government plates. "Somebody go fetch Buck in," he called over his shoulder, then walked up the hall to their alarm box where the little two-way radio system JD had installed was hooked in. "Can I help you?" he said into the speaker. 

After a minute he heard the squawk that indicated somebody had pushed the button by the road. "I'm Detective Julie Meek of the Macon Police Department," a throaty feminine voice said. "Who am I speaking to?"

Chris ignored the question and pushed the button to open the gate. "Come on up," he said, and picked up the rifle from where it leaned in a corner of the front hall. He went back to the kitchen, fast; Buck was inside, sweating, with the little earphones hanging back over his shoulders. "What's up?" Buck asked. 

"We've got company. She says she's from the Macon Police Department. Vin, take this rifle and go cover us from the front of the house. Try the window in the office, and stay out of sight. Ezra, get JD up. Don't let him come out until you're sure he's awake." Ezra jumped up to do as he was told, always all business when the chips were down. 

Vin stiffened. "You think they aren't real cops?"

"I don't know, but I want somebody on them by the time they get out of their car, so move it, people." Josiah and Vin scrambled out of the bench seat and hurried toward the front of the house while Chris just stared across the space between himself and Buck. "Is there anything you need to tell me?"

Buck frowned at him. "No. How about you?"

"Fuck you," Chris muttered, and headed toward the front door with Buck on his heels. 

Two suits were just getting out of the car when he reached the front door. He threw the deadbolt and eased the door open, keeping his body behind its solid core. If they knew they were being scoped they didn't show it, just walked up the path and onto the porch. 

"I'm detective Julie Meek of the Macon Police Department," she said, flashing her badge as she held out a business card. She was slender and brunette, tall, and she looked official enough. "And this is Andrew Bowen." She gestured to the nondescript man behind her. He held out his card too. "May we come in?" Her accent wasn't as deep south as Macon but it did carry a definite twang, probably Tennessee. 

"That depends," Chris said, "what's your business here?" 

"We'd like to speak to Buck Wilmington, if he's available," she said, offering the information easily enough. 

Chris debated sending them packing, but in the end he knew it would cause more trouble than it was worth so he swung the door open and gestured them inside. Meek stopped just inside the door while Bowen stopped just outside. Buck sauntered up and waved them both on in. "I'm Buck Wilmington. Come on in, you're letting the cold air out," he said, even though the air conditioning hadn't kicked in yet this morning. 

"Thank you," Meek said. "Mr. Wilmington?" she said it like it was a question, even though he'd just introduced himself.

"The one and only," he said, flashing her a high-voltage smile. "Is there anything I can do for you detective?" Chris grit his teeth, wondering if this was how Ezra felt when he and Buck fooled around in front of him. 

"We'd like to ask you a few questions about your whereabouts yesterday," she said. 

"Come on back to the kitchen," Buck offered, and reached a hand for her elbow to guide her. Bowen was frowning annoyance at Buck's back, and Chris could empathize. "Can I get you two some coffee?" Buck went on. 

"No, thank you," Meek said, then Bowen said the same. 

Meek sat down at the kitchen table while Bowen hovered near. Chris leaned against the doorjamb to watch. "What do you want with him?" he asked without preamble or introductions. 

"We'd like to ask him some questions, as I said, Mr…?" 

Chris didn't quite sneer at her, but he didn't answer either. 

"That's Chris Larabee," Buck said genially, "my partner. Don't mind him, he's just a little grouchy in the morning." 

Laugh it up, asshole, Chris thought uncharitably. They're probably here to arrest you for assault.

"Mr. Larabee," she said, then turned her attention to Buck. Chris watched her carefully, but she seemed as unfazed by Buck's bulked-up muscles glowing with a healthy sheen of sweat as she was by his charm. All business, in fact, enough so that he relaxed a little and decided she was who she said she was. "Mr. Wilmington, you were at a bar in Macon yesterday afternoon, 'The Kickin' Mule'?"

"Call me Buck, and yes ma'am, I was."

"What was your business there?" 

"We're looking for a man," Buck said, fetching himself a cup of coffee and sitting down at the table. "You sure I can't get you a cup?" 

"Thanks, I'm fine. Who were you looking for?" 

"His name's Cletus Fowler," Buck said. "He's a skip on a misdemeanor bail in Jacksonville, Florida, and a suspect in a cold case here in Atlanta." 

"And you're a bail enforcer, is that correct?" Chris tried to catch Buck's eye, wondering why they were dancing around things. It was obvious they'd called the local cops before they'd driven up, so they already knew plenty. 

But Buck wasn't looking at him. "Yeah. Chris and me both." 

Bowen pulled out a notebook and started scribbling. "What time did you leave the bar, Mr. Wilmington?" he asked. 

"Call me Buck, if you don't mind," he repeated himself. "I hear 'Mr. Wilmington' I keep looking over my shoulder for my father." Chris rolled his eyes at that one, because it was as old as Buck was and because Buck had never looked for his father in his life. "I guess we were gone by two o'clock or so," Buck went on. "Why?"

"We," Meek parroted back, then turned to Chris. "Were you the one with him, Mr. Larabee?"

"No," Chris said, and crossed his arms over his chest. Did they really think he and Josiah looked alike, or had the descriptions they'd collected just been that bad? 

"I was with one of our employees, Josiah Sanchez," Buck said. "He's here if you want to talk to him."

"In a few minutes, that'd be great," she said. "Where did you go when you left the bar?"

"I took Josiah back to his car and we followed each other back to Atlanta as far as downtown. He exited the freeway and headed back to the office we're currently working out of, and I came on out here." 

Meek glanced over at Bowen, then stared straight at Buck, obviously looking for a reaction when she said, "The bartender at The Kickin' Mule, Mr. Michael Ford, was found dead in a storage building this morning." 

"Shit." Buck whistled out a low breath, and shot Chris a look. "What was the time of death?"

"If you don't mind, I'll ask the questions."

Chris bristled at that and pushed off the doorjamb. "We do mind, detective. Is Buck a suspect?" 

She looked him straight in the eye. "Not at this time, Mr. Larabee, no. But his cooperation will play a role in that." 

Bowen stepped up. "You're an ex police officer, aren't you?" he asked. 

"Yeah," Chris said, annoyed. 

"Then you know we can't answer questions about an ongoing investigation. Perhaps you'd like to wait in another room until we're ready for you?"

Perhaps you'd like to kiss my ass, Chris thought, but nodded anyway and said, "I'm fine where I am." 

Meek raised an eyebrow and turned back to Buck. "I understand you had an altercation with Mr. Ford," she said. "What was it about?"

"Like I said," Buck repeated, "we went down there to ask some questions, try to find Cletus Fowler's whereabouts. The bartender didn't like my looks I guess because he tried to pull a sawed-off shotgun out from behind the bar. I checked him, and took the shotgun away from him. Then I asked him about Fowler. He didn't have much to say," Buck went on, and Chris could tell he wanted to get this over with, "so Josiah and I showed the pictures we had around the bar. Nobody was talking, so we packed it in and came home." 

"And Mr. Sanchez can corroborate your story?"

"He sure can." 

"All right. What about the rest of the day?"

"I came home, like I said, got here a little after five, I guess. You can check with JD Dunne, he was here when I got back. And I've been home ever since. We had some drop-bys from local uniformed cops, probably two or three after I got home. I've got their names if you want to check with them."

"Yes, I would, thank you." 

Buck ambled into the dining room while Chris stood watch in the doorway. He came back in with a little stack of business cards and a notepad, then studiously copied down names and telephone numbers. "Here you go," Buck said after he'd scrawled out their names and estimated times of arrival and departure. "That should corroborate my whereabouts until about seven last night. For the rest you'll have to talk to the rest of the guys. Now, who do you want to talk to next, Josiah or JD?"

She gave her partner a look that Chris couldn't read. "They're both here?"

"Ezra Standish too, he got in around ten last night. We've been having some trouble lately," Buck explained, "so we're keeping everybody close." 

"Trouble?"

"It's not associated with your case," Buck said. 

Chris wasn't so sure, but he for damned sure didn't say that out loud. "I'll go fetch Josiah for you," he offered. 

Josiah and Vin were sitting on Vin's bed. The door was open and they'd obviously been listening as best they could. "Josiah? You're up next," Chris said. "The bartender in Macon turned up dead this morning."

"Shit," Josiah muttered. "All right." 

Chris stepped back to let Josiah by and then ducked into the office, fed up with being two steps behind. He dug out Mel Sullivan's cell phone number and dialed it. 

"Sullivan," Mel said, clipped and distracted. 

"Mel, it's Chris Larabee," he said, keeping his voice low. As soon as this was over they were going to tear out every wall in this house and stuff it with so much insulation he wouldn't know if a bomb went off in the kitchen. "Two detectives from Macon P.D. are up here questioning Buck and Josiah. A bartender turned up dead at a bar they went to yesterday, can you find out anything about it for us?" 

"Chris…" 

"Mel, you know we can find it," Chris sniped at him. They knew plenty of cops, both from their own days on the force and from their years as bounty hunters. "But it's got to have something to do with Fowler, who's involved in your cold case. So save me the trouble of tracking it down through unauthorized channels."

"I'm an unauthorized channel," Mel groused, but then he gave a little grunt and said, "They called me this morning." 

Chris barely bit back a curse. "You not supposed to be talking to me now?"

"Screw Macon P.D.," Mel said, and Chris grinned. He was feeling the same way. "They didn't give me much but I can check the system. What was the guy's name?" 

"Michael Ford," Chris said. "The bar's called 'The Kickin' Mule.' Thanks, Mel." He hung up and went back to the kitchen, fast. They'd kicked Buck out and were just finishing up running down the same list of questions with Josiah. The only difference in the stories should be that Josiah had gone back to work at Quick Release before coming home later last night. 

Chris listened for about ten seconds, then slipped back out of the room before he decided to throw these people out of his house. He didn't care what they said, he had been a cop and he knew they wouldn't have driven all the way up there if Buck wasn't at least on their list of potential suspects. Worse, he knew now that Fowler had been close to Buck, and Chris could have come home this morning to find the body of another person he loved. 

Vin was still in the front bedroom, sitting stiffly on the edge of the mattress, his palms flat against his thighs. Chris shut the door and leaned back against it. "Assholes," he muttered, not so much to start a conversation as to vent his frustration. Fowler was behind this, he had to be, and these idiots were wasting a trip to Atlanta to question Buck. 

"Just doin' their jobs, I guess," Vin said, low. 

"Not very well," Chris snapped, and Vin held his hands up in front of him. 

"Hey now, I didn't call 'em," he said. "Not my fault they're here… well," he cleared his throat, "I guess it is."

Chris took a couple of deep breaths and blew them out hard. Vin was the cause of all this, yes, but it wasn't Vin's fault. The distinction was crystal clear in Chris's head. 

After a minute he moved over to the bed and sat down a few inches from Vin, then flung himself back on the mattress, trying not to think how close to Buck Fowler had been. Nothing happened,, he told himself, trying to take a page out of Buck's book. "Fucking shit pile," he growled. 

"I can't argue with that," Vin said beside him. 

They hid in there for another ten minutes or so before someone knocked on the door. "Chris?" Buck called through it. 

"Yeah," he called back and sat up. 

Buck eased the door open, looked between them for a second, then grinned. "Was worried I'd be walking in on something," he admitted. 

Chris gritted his teeth; only Buck would think somebody would decide that the time for screwing around was while Buck was being questioned by the police about a murder. "What do you want?" 

"They're done with everybody else and now they want to talk to you and Vin," Buck said. "They're interested in a window between eleven and two a.m., so I figure that's the T.O.D."

Chris glanced across to Vin. That would put them in the vicinity of the crime, on their way back from Jacksonville. "Tell 'em the truth," he ordered Vin, then stood up and pushed past Buck and out the door, sliding his hand across Buck's belly as he went by. 

The detectives were still at the kitchen table, but somebody had talked at least Bowen into taking a cup of coffee. "I took Vin Tanner with me to Jacksonville, Florida yesterday," he started in before they could ask him the questions, "after we learned from Orrin Travis that Fowler missed a trial date there. We spoke to sheriffs' deputies Cortez and Esteban in their downtown office, then poked around a property Fowler supposedly lives in. We left Jacksonville after dark. I drove until we were across the state line, then turned the car over to Vin and slept the rest of the way home. I didn't wake up until he pulled in at the gate to this farm. That was not quite three a.m." 

"Is there a reason you're so antagonistic, Mr. Larabee?" Meek asked him baldly. 

He blinked; he didn't think he had been. Buck, who had sidled up behind him while he spoke, dropped an arm heavily over his shoulders. "He's just that way, detective. You can't take him personally." 

She gave her partner a dubious look while Chris considered elbowing Buck in the ribs. "It's been a long couple of days and I'm short on sleep," he offered, trying to temper his voice. He shrugged out from under Buck's arm and put a couple of feet between them, shooting Buck a warning look to fend him off. "But no, I'm not in love with the way you're wasting time over my partner or me when the killer's out there loose. We've got alibis, both of us."

"We'll waste considerably less of our time if we don't have to drive back up here again," Meek said, pretty much ignoring his criticism. "Did you stop at any point after you traded drivers?" 

"You'll have to ask Tanner," he told her. "Like I said, I was asleep."

"Thank you, I will. Is he here also?"

Buck spoke up. "I'll fetch him for you, you just sit tight." 

Chris glowered at Buck's departing back, then tried to dial it down as he looked back toward the detectives. Odds were they had information that could help him find Cletus Fowler, but there was so little chance that they'd talk he didn't even bother asking. Vin trotted out a minute later and Chris stood and listened while they pried the information out of him one word at a time. Finally, they stood to leave. 

"Thank you for your cooperation, gentlemen," Meek said, and she didn't even sound sarcastic. Bowen reached to shake Chris's hand, and after a second Chris took it. He wasn't interested in making nice with these people but he understood all the reasons not to intentionally piss them off. He ushered them out the door before Buck could start exchanging pleasantries, and threw the deadbolt behind them. 

He turned and faced Buck, who had dogged him up the hall. "It seems like every time we get close, somebody ends up dead or shot at," he snarled. "A body'll probably turn up in Jacksonville next."

Buck just shrugged. "This means we're on the right trail at least. You and Vin didn't split up in Jacksonville, did you?" he asked. 

"We were apart for maybe two minutes while I broke into Fowler's apartment through an upstairs window. I went downstairs and let Vin in the front door before I even swept the place. Other than that we were practically joined at the hip."

Buck leered a little. "Joined at the hip, huh?" 

Chris knew Buck was just trying to distract himself from the tension that had ratcheted up in the house, but he glowered anyway and herded Buck back to the kitchen, picking up Ezra and JD from the living room on the way. Vin was still in there, leaning against the refrigerator and worrying at his bottom lip while Josiah had returned to the table with a fresh plate of toast. 

"You didn't tell 'em we broke into Fowler's apartment, did you?" Vin asked.

"Of course I didn't," Chris snapped. While they had certain legal rights to enter homes and conduct a search without warrants, they weren't the men holding Fowler's surety or hired to hunt him down for skipping. 

Vin nodded his head sharply. "I wondered why they weren't trying to arrest me." 

"Fowler is ahead of us every step of the way," Ezra groused, his words tight and annoyed, "and I for one am sick of it."

"We're all sick of it, Ezra," Buck said. 

"So I take it, it's time to follow our newest lead?" Ezra asked him. 

Chris tensed and glared at Ezra. "You've got a new lead on Fowler?" 

"Yes," Ezra said dryly, and shot a dark look at Buck, "but no I absolutely will not be the one to tell you about it." He glanced at Buck again, more furtively this time. "I've been sworn to secrecy on pain of death." 

"Ezra," Chris started, low, his already dark mood turning darker, "You know which one of us you should be more afraid of, don't you?" 

"Yes, I do," Ezra sniffed, "so I'm not telling you." He hunkered down over his coffee mug and blew across the rim, making steam rise, and waved his hand in Buck's general direction. "I for one avoid domestic squabbles whenever and wherever I can," he said, "so you two work this insanity out between yourselves." 

Chris grit his teeth, feeling the vein in his temple throb. "We've got a new lead and you were all just sitting on your asses eating breakfast?" 

"Most important meal of the day," Josiah said, and Chris lost it a little. He threw his coffee mug into the sink, barely registering the clatter of breaking ceramic, and stormed up to the table. "You think this is a joke, Josiah?" he yelled, temper flaring white-hot behind his eyes. 

"Easy, Chris," Vin said from behind him. 

"Nobody thinks this is a joke, Chris," Josiah said somberly, meeting his eyes. 

Chris dismissed him with barely a glance and aimed his glare at Buck. "Tell me what you know," he ordered. "Now."

Buck drew himself up to his full height and crossed his arms over his chest. "You wanna try that again?" he said, glowering. The silence in the room was thick and weighted, but before Chris could decide who to beat the information out of Buck's face darkened, and he said "Chris," hard and low. 

Chris just barely managed to rein himself in, but he knew he didn't have much choice because Buck was still plenty pissed about yesterday. He'd forgotten about it while the police were questioning them, ignored the fact that Buck was making nice with them because anything else—like Chris's behavior—would look suspicious, and Buck knew that. "Damn you," he muttered, then tempered his voice to ask, "What have you found out?"

"Fowler's parents live in Brunswick," he said. 

"Brunswick? Shit." He went to the dining room and shuffled through the stack of papers from Tim Fox's file, looking for the report on the killing in Brunswick. It never had fit Fox's profile, and Chris knew the reason why now. He took it back with him into the kitchen. "There was a murder in Brunswick years ago, peripherally investigated, never solved. We thought it was Tim Fox's doing." 

Buck perked up. "Tim told me the whole mess between him and Fowler had been over territory. Fowler'd been moving in, messing up his operations…" 

"Do we think Fowler killed somebody in Brunswick?" JD asked. 

Chris nodded. "It fits. We'll sic Mel on the players, see if he can dig anything up that makes sense now."

It was Josiah who spoke then. "I feel sorry for Cletus Fowler's folks," he said prosaically. "They seem like good people."

Most of the time when Josiah Sanchez went cryptic, Chris was happy just to ignore him. But he didn't have that luxury this morning. "Spit it out, Josiah." 

"His folks," Josiah said. "Good churchgoers, his mother's over eighty and she still makes dinner at home every night for her husband, and like Buck said, Cletus usually joins them two or three times a week. Always on Sunday, always on Wednesday after her Bible study. Sometimes on Fridays too. He shares supper and then retires to his old room to do a little work. But he missed last night, didn't even call." Josiah clucked in mock-sympathy. "She's very worried about him."

"Fox told me Fowler's real particular, kept all kinds of dirt on his competition. Even on his own people," Buck said, sounding eager. 

Vin sat up like a pointer spotting quail. "You think that's his safe house?"

"You think it isn't?" Josiah asked. 

"You didn't spook 'em, did you?" Chris asked.

Josiah shot him an admonishing look. "I was calling from a prayer request line," he smirked. "Asked after her and her family, told her we offer intercessory prayer free of charge. She's a troubled lady."

Ezra huffed. "And even after that fine performance he didn't hit her up for a donation. Shameful, Josiah."

Chris scented blood in the water and was a lot more interested in being able to find Fowler. "So he hasn't been by at all lately?" 

"Not since last Sunday, she said, and even then he only stayed for dinner." 

"Here's what I'd like to know," JD cut in. "How are we supposed to get ahead of him if we can't ever find him?" 

"One or more of us should go back to Jacksonville and wait at his house," Ezra said, "then tie him up when he shows and drag him back up here so the police can question him." 

"There's no reason to go to Florida, Ezra," Chris said. "He won't be there." 

"Have you become clairvoyant?" Ezra asked him. "Can I take you to the track tomorrow?"

"Ezra," Buck warned, "now isn't the time." 

"It's always the time," Ezra muttered, but quietly. 

Vin cut in before Chris could. "I had the feeling Fowler or somebody had been at his place in Florida, but whoever was there, they cleared out before we came. Fowler won't be anywhere we expect him to be. Hell, he's probably long gone if he was even here in the first place." 

"My gut tells me different," Chris said. He looked at Vin. "Few years back, me and Buck were tracking a couple of high-risk skips with some locals in Arizona. Five days in, one of the local guys got beaten pretty badly, nearly killed. See, we thought we were tracking those guys, but the whole time they were tracking us." 

"What'd you do?" JD asked, wide-eyed. 

"We shot them on sight, kid," Buck said. "Killed one of 'em, and the other we took to an emergency room, let the cops pick him up from there." 

"But that's—that's illegal!" JD squeaked.

"Not in Arizona it isn't," Buck said. 

Chris was still looking at Vin, eyeing the thoughtful look on his face. "Fine line between hunter and hunted sometimes," Vin said, and nodded to Chris. Vin understood. "All the more reason to get him first." 

"If he's hunting me," Chris said, thinking, "I think it's time to let him find me." 

Vin rose like he was ready to start the hunt right this minute, but Chris held up a hand. 

"Wait," he said, and moved to the coffee pot, picking it up and waving it in the air then counting the reaching hands. He poured a cup for Vin then split the rest among everybody else's mugs, said, "Drink your coffee first." 

"Have you got a plan?" Vin asked him, looking interested. 

Chris wouldn't go that far. He looked to Buck then, reading the intent in his partner's blue eyes. "I think it's time to pay Fowler's folks a visit," he said, and raised his eyebrows. 

Buck grinned. 

There were a lot of things Buck loved Chris Larabee for, and one of them was how decisive the guy was. It could irritate him as much as it impressed him, because once Chris made up his mind it was hard to change it, but today Buck was just mostly impressed. Chris's idea was wild and risky, a trademark for him really, but Buck was willing to go along with it because if it worked, then they'd be free of all this and could get their lives back to normal. He holed up in the office to call his old precinct and asked for Captain Barker, knowing they needed more help than they'd be able wrangle from the Macon P.D. or the Brunswick cops on their own. Chris hadn't helped matters there. 

"Buck?" she said when she picked up the line. 

"Hey, Cap," Buck said. "Chris and me have got an idea we'd like to bounce off you. Has Mel Sullivan been keeping you up to date on his investigation?"

"Of course he has," she said. "But if you're running a plan by me it can't be a good one."

He heard the smile in her voice, and returned it. "It does have a little flair," he admitted. 

"Flair. Right. Go on."

Buck explained the situation and their plan, which consisted mostly of Chris being the bait in a trap they wanted the cops to spring in Macon. 

"You know, Buck," she sighed, "I thought when you two quit I'd be rid of plans like this one." 

He could almost picture her squeezing the back of her neck, and smiled. "C'mon, Cap, it ain't that bad."

"It's not that good, either," she said soberly. "Now for the hard question. If I don't enlist some help for you, is Chris going to do it anyway?"

Buck looked toward the door, which was open a crack; he pushed it shut before lowering his voice to answer. "We're talking about Sarah and Adam's killer, Cap," he said. "For the most part he's been a lot better than I expected him to be if this day ever came. But yeah, we'll probably go ahead with it, police assistance or not." 

"Damn it," she cursed, just barely loud enough for Buck to hear. "Buck, I don't know what kind of cooperation I'm going to get, and I sure as hell don't expect to get it as quickly as you're asking for it."

"Well, we'd appreciate you trying, Cap," Buck said. "You think you will?" 

He listened to the silence as she thought it through and worried a little. This was the kind of plan that, the more you thought about it the worse it looked. "Who do we know in Macon?"

"I expect you know everybody," he said. 

"Yeah, but I'm not the one who'll be down there. Who—wait a minute." He listened to tapping and knew she was doing something on her computer. "You remember Jordon Brady?"

"Yeah. He hates Chris." 

"Who doesn't? But he likes you," she said. 

"Who doesn't?" Buck grinned. 

She ignored him. "They respected each other and you all know each other's work. He transferred down to Macon PD before you two even quit the department. He's high up enough on the food chain to be able to help us. But Buck, it's got to be a play that'll stick. Nothing that'll tarnish his career or his reputation or none of us will ever be able to drive through Bibb County again."

Jordon Brady would arrest them for spitting on the sidewalk for the rest of their natural lives if this went south. But he was a good cop who didn't mind taking a few chances if he trusted all the players. They'd worked with him years ago on some pretty big jobs, and Buck figured he'd still trust them and anyone they spoke for. 

He mentally reviewed all the information in his head, trying to pick out what he could legally say at this point and what he couldn't. This was one part of police work that he didn't miss. "We've got a line on some folks who might have evidence of Fowler's shady dealings," he said, skirting everything they knew that the cops couldn't just yet, not if they wanted whatever they found to make it into court. "If we learn anything concrete, you'll have to move fast or he'll crawl back under a rock faster than you could hang up on me."

"How did you know I was thinking of doing just that?" she said, but the words were sarcastic. "Are these informants reliable, Buck?"

He chuckled at that. "Upstanding citizens," he assured her. "We think they might be able to connect Fowler's business with a residence in Brunswick. If they give us enough for a warrant, we'll call you and get out of your way. Think that'll be enough to satisfy Brady?" 

"I suppose it'll have to be. Let's assume you learn something concrete. If you do, then we'll move forward with the idiotic part of your plan."

"Sounds great, Cap." 

He heard her curse under her breath again. "So we've got Atlanta, Jacksonville, Brunswick and Macon. I'll get someone to liaise with the state drug enforcement task force." 

"Yeah, that'd be good. And Cap…" he hesitated, hating to say it out loud. "Don't talk to Orrin Travis or any of his people. Don't call DA Hunter, don't call US Attorneys Cruz or Palminteri. In fact, try not to talk to anybody you don't know you can trust."

"You think you've got a leak."

"I know we've got a leak. We just don't know where it is." 

"All right, Buck," she said after a second, "I'll see what I can do. I know an appellate court judge I can probably get a warrant from fast if you can confirm for me that there's something to find. She's got enough reach to cover Macon and Brunswick, and been around long enough that she knows all the players. She'll keep it quiet if I ask her to."

"Thanks, Cap. If there's anything we can do for you…"

"Don't get yourselves killed," she said, "and close this case once and for all. I'll call you later." Then she hung up. 

It didn't take long to move what they thought they'd need from their own cars or the house into one of the rental SUVs that Buck would drive, with Chris riding shotgun. They had decided to leave one of their rifles for Ezra and JD, as Vin and Josiah were heading for Macon not long after Chris and Buck left for Brunswick. But they took both the shotguns and a couple of handguns apiece. Not that Buck was expecting a shootout in the home of a couple of gray-haired retirees, but you couldn't be too careful. And he had no idea what they'd have to do in Macon. He'd already called Mark Brown and placed an order for Kevlar vests and extra ammunition that they would pick up on their way through town. Alongside the guns, they had a dozen pictures of Fowler, phone chargers, and two digital cameras. 

JD had filled a bag with road snacks and set it out on the kitchen table when he realized they were leaving again. JD wasn't even going with them, but he was still thinking with his stomach for everyone else. Chris's cell phone rang while Buck was checking out what kinds of chips JD had packed.

"Larabee," he answered. Then he looked at Buck. "It's Mel Sullivan. Hold on a second, Mel, I'm gonna put you on the speaker." 

"—know," Mel was saying, "I hate modern technology."

"Hey Mel," Buck called out, "I know how you feel. What's up?" 

"Chris called me looking for information on the corpse in Macon," Mel said, and Buck raised his eyebrows at Chris, mouthed You might have mentioned that. Chris just shot him a smile and handed him the phone, then started digging in the refrigerator for the iced tea pitcher. "You've got his name, Michael Ford," Mel went on. "Fifty-three years old, no outstanding warrants, divorced three times. A real prize." Buck chuckled under his breath. "He'd worked at The Kickin' Mule for years, and his rap sheet's pretty petty, mostly drunk and disorderly, a couple of assaults. It seems that not many people were willing to press charges against him though. There's a metal shed they use for storing cleaning products and canned goods just behind the bar. The cleaning crew found him in it when they went looking for a new bottle of bleach and called it in. I don't have much more than that," Mel said, his voice flat and brassy on the speaker. "They found him at 8:15 this morning. Time of death is listed as between eleven p.m. and two a.m."

Josiah and Vin had wandered in while Mel was talking, and taken up posts around the kitchen to listen in. 

"That's pretty much what we thought, Mel," Buck said, still staring into the food bag. He had resisted rifling through it because the noise would come through on Mel's call. But still, he was already feeling peckish and thought maybe he could get a snack in before they put the bag in the car. 

"Yeah, well. Listen, I've got some other news, I don't know if it's good or bad. I heard about this murder from one other source besides you."

"Who?" Chris asked. 

"Orrin Travis." 

Buck looked to Chris. "How the hell did he find out?"

Mel must have thought the question was directed at him, because he answered it. "He said one of his skip tracers heard Josiah talking about your trip to Macon yesterday and he called me when he saw the news report," Mel said. "They hadn't released the name, but he seemed to be worried about you guys."

"Not worried enough to call us," Buck muttered. Chris met his eyes, and a twinge of something knotted in his belly, stealing his appetite. 

"And Orrin's the one who knew I was sending somebody to Jacksonville," Chris said thoughtfully. Buck didn't like the sound of that, liked even less the idea that Orrin Travis was their leak. They trusted the man, had for years. 

"But nothing happened in Jacksonville," Buck said. 

Chris raised his eyebrows. "Whoever lived there had cleared out, and recently, Buck," he said.

"Yeah, but—" Buck stopped, thinking it through. If Fowler had been in Jacksonville and known that was Chris coming… "Did Orrin know you were going yourself?" he asked, anxious all over again. Chris shook his head, holding his gaze. They were both thinking the same thing. 

"Listen, Buck," Mel said, interrupting, "you're looking pretty good for the murder."

"Yeah, except for the fact that I wasn't there." 

"Can you prove that?" Mel asked. 

Josiah piped up from the table. "I was with him," he said, "from about one o'clock on. 

"Who's that? That Josiah?"

"Yeah Mel, it's me," Josiah said. 

"You were with Buck the whole time?" 

"Until we got back to Atlanta yesterday afternoon, yeah. And then back here at the farm after about eight p.m. And while our Buck might have been in a murderous mood last night, he wasn't thinking about the bartender." 

A pause filled the air before Mel cleared his throat. "Uh, guys? Is there something you want to tell me?"

"Just a lover's quarrel," Buck said, as much to annoy Chris as anything, and grinned when Chris glared at him. 

Chris snatched the phone out of Buck's hand but left the speaker on. "Vin Tanner and I were driving back from Jacksonville Florida last night. It was probably midnight or so when we went through Macon, and we told that to the police." 

Mel's voice was desert-dry when he said, "Great." 

Buck watched Chris take a long swallow of his tea, and stepped up behind him, kneading his shoulders. They were rock-hard with tension, enough that Buck was a little worried for Chris's back—not that Chris would say a damned thing about it. "Mel," Buck said over Chris's shoulder and toward the phone, "we've got some ideas on how to smoke Fowler out. I called Captain Barker, she might be tapping you for a little work."

"She already has," Mel said, "and let me tell you, I'm completely underwhelmed with your plan."

Chris's shoulders hiked up another inch under Buck's hands. "You got a better one?" Chris challenged him.

"No," Mel answered after a second. 

"Then call us if you do. Thanks." Chris hung up the phone. 

They were on the road not long after Chris hung up on Mel Sullivan. Buck kept one eye on his partner and the other on the road. "You might want to calm down a little, try not to give yourself a heart attack," Buck advised him. 

Chris cast a baleful look his way. "You think?"

"Yeah, I think." Buck reached over to Chris's tight-clasped hands and pried one free, lacing his fingers through it. "It's a good plan, Chris. Long as we do it right and quick, this thing will be over and we'll have caught Fowler before this time tomorrow." 

Chris clutched at his hand hard enough that it hurt, and Buck wondered what had him so wound up this time. "Chris?"

"Nothing," Chris said, barely loud enough for Buck to hear him over the car engine. 

Buck thought maybe it was that this was the last thing Chris could do for Sarah and Adam, truly the last thing. He'd held onto it, tightly at first and then more gently as the years went by, but Buck knew it had gnawed at him sometimes, that Sarah's killer was still out there. Maybe Chris just didn't know what he'd have left once this was done. 

"Hey," he said gently, "I'm right here. And I'll be here when this is over. Okay?"

Chris surprised him by unbuckling his seatbelt and twisting to the edge of his own bucket seat, leaning across the armrest to bury his face against Buck's neck. Buck wrapped his free arm around Chris, just holding him, hoping that passing cars couldn't make out what Chris was doing through the SUV's tinted windows but not caring overmuch if they could. The thought was more for Chris's privacy than for his own. 

"Chris?" Buck asked, holding him awkwardly. 

Chris slid back into his own seat and reached for the seatbelt, buckling back in with his head down. "Chris?" he said again. 

"Don't let me get myself killed," Chris said then, low. "Just—don't. And if I do die, make sure you kill whoever gets me right then and there. Shoot 'em. Claim it was self-defense or a misfire or whatever. Don't let it drag out." 

A chill went through Buck at the words, as realization of what was eating at Chris formed fully in his mind. He grabbed up Chris's hand again and held it tight, swallowing past the lump in his throat. Chris didn't want to die. Buck remembered a time when it was just about the only thing Chris wanted, the one and only thing, and it scared him as much as it moved him, that Chris was worried about dying now. He understood the fear, as much Chris's desire to live as it was not wanting to leave Buck behind alone, and it took a minute for Buck to get control of his voice. 

"I'm not gonna let you die, pard," he said when he could. "I'll take out anybody I have to, to keep that from happening." 

Chris squeezed his hand. 

They had to stop downtown to pick up ammunition and let Mark Brown fit them for Kevlar vests, picking sizes and strapping that would be hard to notice under loose shirts. Buck bought vests for Josiah, JD, Ezra, and Vin who would be catching up to them in Macon in a few hours. Mark didn't ask any questions. He was a good cop that way; if he didn't ask, he wouldn't have anything to testify to. Buck paid with his credit card and hustled Chris out the door. 

It was just after five p.m. when they got to Brunswick, but the town was sleepy enough they didn't have much in the way of traffic to fight. Buck nudged Chris's knee to get his attention. "Call Josiah, see if they're on their way to Macon," he said. 

Chris sat up and pulled out his phone, and they stopped a couple of minutes later at a gas station. Buck stretched his legs while Chris grabbed himself a coke and Buck a diet Pepsi. He grinned when he handed it across, said, "Diet Pepsi and sweet tea," an old tease about Buck's occasional worry he could get flabby in his old age, and Buck decided Chris's mood must be pretty good, to make it here. 

"Gotta stay pretty for you," he said with a grin. 

"You are," Chris said soberly, almost too quiet for Buck to hear, but it tugged at something inside him. Chris was optimistic, Buck could tell, but he was worried too. 

"You know what's gonna be left when we get this done?" he asked, stepping close enough to Chris to give them some privacy. "All the good memories. No more regrets, no more unfinished business, Chris, just all the good memories." 

Chris looked a little bleak at the prospect, and Buck could understand that; the hope that one day he'd catch Sarah's and Adam's killer had been what held Chris together in the early days. Chris wanted Fowler caught, but he was worried there'd be a hole left where that hunger had been. 

"Hey now." Buck cast a quick look around and decided he didn't care if they were seen, and dropped a quick kiss to Chris's soft mouth. "It's gonna feel good, getting this over with. It is, Chris. And we'll still be here when it's done." 

Chris reached out and grabbed his hand for a quick squeeze. "I'm just feeling…"

"Weird?" Buck asked him. He was feeling a little that way himself. 

"I was gonna say stupid," Chris muttered, and Buck smiled. 

"You just wait, pard, it'll be good." 

Chris nodded, but a pensive look stayed on his face on the short drive to St. Simon's Island, where the elder Fowlers' home was. They stopped at the end of the curved street amongst live oak and cedar trees, the house just barely visible through all the green. "Okay," Buck said, whispering in spite of himself, "let's go take care of business." 

Chris had already donned his Kevlar; Buck couldn't even make out the lines of it under his overshirt and had to reach out to squeeze him just to be sure it was there. Chris did the same. "Give me three minutes," he said. 

Buck looked up the street, checking for anything out of place. "You sure we shouldn't have brought Ezra?" he asked him. 

Chris looked at Buck, really looked at him, seeing the same tiredness he suspected was on his own face and wondering if all this was going to pan out. He was an emotional basket case, but if ever anybody would forgive him for being a mess and acting like an ass to boot, it would be Buck. 

Should they have brought Ezra? It was damned late to be wondering that. "No," Chris said, not kidding at all. "If somebody's going to do this it's going to be—" me, he'd started to say, but he knew some part of Buck was still pissed at him for taking off yesterday, so he said, "us," instead. Buck looked surprised, but then nodded, so Chris said, "Let's get this done," and climbed out of the car. 

He knew Buck was waiting behind him in the car, keeping an eye out and giving him a couple of minutes to get in place; the house was big and old, a sprawling place with a porch that wrapped around the first floor and a veranda up off the second. That would be how he got in, just as soon as he heard Buck wrangle the Fowlers to their front door. He pulled out a pair of surgical gloves and slid his hands into them, and in the humid heat down here his hands started sweating right off. 

A trellise was nailed to the side of the house just behind the porch and Chris climbed that, feeling far too exposed and glad of all the trees around here. He made it to the veranda just as Buck started pounding on the front door. Footsteps didn't carry in this old house, which was good, but it meant he had to work his ass off to figure out whether two old people had been drawn to the front of their home to facilitate his break-in in the back. 

"Can I help you?" he heard a distant voice, papery and male. He could picture Buck right now, brandishing the real estate brochure he'd printed off the internet and his crumpled map of the area. He sucked in a calming breath, remembering what was at stake here, and cocked his head to listen as Buck said, too loud, "I sure hope so. I think I'm about as turned around as I can get without leaving the state of Georgia. I'm still in Georgia, right?"

The old man chuckled, and Chris shook his head. Charm the birds right out of the trees… not that he was going to tell Buck that. He eased onto the veranda and started with the nearest window. Open. He pushed it up to the rhythm of the creaking front screen opening; this was almost too easy. 

"Who is it, Bob?" a woman's voice called from inside the house.

"Sorry to bother you ma'am," he heard Buck called out, and hoped she'd be lured to the front door with her husband. "You've got yourself a lost lamb bleating on your porch." 

Chris rolled his eyes. 

The window opened into a narrow hall filled with family photographs: there was Cletus, a little younger than the pictures in his police report, standing next to a man who looked almost exactly like him and a woman who was the picture of southern charm, her hair coiffed up high and bedecked with silver stars. He hoped the old lady only did that for family portraits. 

He stepped into the hall, and didn't have to look further than a padlocked door. What the hell kind of parents let their adult son keep a door padlocked in their home? The answer came with a rush of fury: frightened ones. Josiah had said they worried, that they prayed for their son. Well all the prayer in the world wasn't going to redeem their boy from what he'd done, or save him from a short prison term and a date with a hypodermic needle. 

He knew the story Buck was using, some yarn about relocating his wife and himself down here from Missouri, and Chris figured they'd be out on that big porch with Buck and tall glasses of iced tea for as long as he needed. He picked the padlock and stepped into what looked very close to heaven: four file cabinets lined one wall, a computer sat on a desk with file folders stacked neatly, and Chris knew before he opened the first one that he'd hit pay dirt. He jimmied the first file cabinet open and pulled out neatly labeled manila files, with names, dates, transactions; Fowler was an obsessive-compulsive lunatic, and Chris could have kissed him for it. He scanned through the drawers looking for "L", feeling a little obsessive himself, and there it was, Larabee, C.M.. Mostly it held old newspaper clippings barely yellowed with age, and photographs of him—and Buck, god damn Fowler—on the street in plainclothes, another of them in jeans leaning against the car that had been destroyed. None of Sarah or Adam, but Chris's hands still shook when he laid the folder out to photograph the contents. A single newspaper headline about the explosion that had torn away half of Chris's life had a note in the margins, hand-written in the same neat print that adorned all the folders in here. Complete, it said, with the newspaper's date circled. 

So Tim Fox really hadn't done it. He'd been telling the truth. Chris moved to another drawer that contained the "Fs" and found Timothy Fox's folder, and the contents still surprised him: from what he could make out Fox hadn't been a business associate but a competitor. It had been a turf war, just like Buck had surmised. In the folder were pictures of Fox's family, obvious relatives from the resemblance both much older and much younger… impulse made him pull the whole file and stick it under his jacket, defiling the crime scene but he didn't give a damn. If they caught Fowler tonight, whatever else was in this folder wasn't going to be left for the trap Buck thought Fowler had laid for Fox. He'd need Fox to testify, they all would. 

He didn't have the kind of time he wanted to go through everything, but he wasn't going to leave without getting the evidence on Stuart James. He went to the Js though, and it wasn't there. Two other Jameses, one in South Carolina and one in Atlanta, but neither of the files had anything related to Texas in them. He frowned, disbelieving. Eli Joe Whitney still had something to answer for.

And there the file was, alphabetized with all the rest, but with next to nothing in it: a few sheets of note paper, cryptic code, a couple of sales years back: weapons, maybe. The last sheet said too much and not enough. It was just a note dated a few weeks back, a call for information and payment for services rendered. Chris looked forward to finding out exactly what services, but with that call from Travis's offices to Whitney, he had a good guess already. 

He didn't have time to waste wondering so he pulled a couple more files out at random and snapped off a dozen more shots. Then he opened each drawer just to photograph the neatly arranged labels. If the sonofabitch managed to disappear all of this before they closed the trap on him, then Chris's pictures would tell the cops where to go to find the links, to piece together a file on Fowler that would still see him in prison. 

When Chris left the room he padlocked the door behind him and slipped out the same window he'd entered. Buck was still jawing out front, and Chris would have smiled at that if anger weren't chewing him up from the inside. He climbed halfway down the trellise and jumped the last few feet to the ground, then looked for a place to wait. He found a hundred-year-old Live Oak to lean against, out of view of the house but in plain sight of the driveway. Come on, wrap it up already.

The third time he checked his watch he gave up and dug out his cell phone. 

"Hello?" Buck answered. Chris could hear rustlings in the background. 

"You trying to get a date with them?" he said. 

"Aww, darlin', sorry to keep you waiting. I met the nicest folks here. Mrs. Fowler, she collects those Hummel figurines just like you do." Chris considered shooting Buck for that crack alone, but he gritted his teeth and kept his mouth shut. It wasn't like Buck needed any help. "Why, she's got every one I've ever seen! Says she's been collecting 'em for years. Just can't throw anything away. Uh huh, yeah," Buck went on one-sided. "Oh, I—is it?" Chris waited through the long pause, wondering what else the senior Fowlers collected because Buck seemed damned excited. "I'll catch you up in just a few minutes." Buck said, "Okay then. Love you too. Bye now." 

Chris hung up. He heard the screen door creak a minute later, and then Buck was strolling back down the drive as easy as you please. He waited for his partner to look around, nodding when he felt Buck's eyes reach him. Buck frowned at him, but Chris ignored it; he was covered, nobody could see him but Buck and maybe the odd neighbor. He pushed off the oak and headed through the trees to meet Buck up around a bend in the road. 

"You will not believe the shit those people hold onto," Buck started in before Chris could even buckle his seatbelt. "Two bookcases devoted just to the last 50 years' worth of tax records and telephone bills. Tell me it's genetic."

"Looks like," he said tightly, "because it's all there. Call Captain Barker." 

Chris thumbed through the digital images while Buck watched him out of the corner of his eye, obviously right on the edge of pummeling him with questions. Somehow, his partner restrained his mouth for once and pulled out his cell phone. 

"Hey Cap," Buck said when she picked up, "we struck gold. I've got an address for you on St. Simon's Island in Brunswick." He rattled off the number and street, then raised his eyebrows at Chris and held out the phone, waiting until Chris took it.

"Drugs and guns," Chris said, his voice hard. "You'll find records on years' worth of criminal activity, files on associates, on me, a note that incriminates—" Chris broke off and just focused on not throwing the goddamned phone out the window. They were close, they were almost on Fowler now. 

"Chris? Larabee!" Barker snapped.

"Yeah," Chris said, "I'm here. There's a locked room on the second floor, that's what you're looking for." 

"I'll call the judge. Anything else I need to know?"

"Yeah," he said again. "The house belongs to Fowler's parents. They must be in their 80s so tell the cops to try not to give them coronaries when they go in. And we're moving ahead with the plan in Macon," he said gruffly. "Call us when you get into the house." 

"What a good idea," she said dryly, and hung up; she always had known how to handle him. He handed the phone back to Buck.

"Cap?" Buck said into it, then held the phone out in front of him, frowning at it. "Can she get the warrant?" he asked. 

"She's calling her judge right now," Chris said, and pulled out his own phone to call back Vin and Josiah, who were already waiting for them in Macon, then Ezra and JD to come down and meet them. "Let's get to Macon." So far, it was all going according to plan.

They were on the highway before Chris noticed that Buck was relying on the cruise control he had installed last year; he reached out to rub his knee. "You all right?"

"Little stiff," Buck admitted. "I went for a run yesterday evening and I guess I pushed it a little hard."

Chris stiffened. "You went for a run by yourself? Yesterday? Where? And what the hell were you thinking?"

"I was thinking," Buck said, shooting him a dark look, "of how many ways I could kill you and all the reasons why I should. You want to make something of it?"

Hell yes, Chris wanted to make something of it, but he forestalled a rant with an effort and said only, "Pull over. I'll drive the rest of the way." Buck did, shooting him a superior look that made Chris want to snipe again, and again he kept his mouth shut. Buck had the moral high ground here and they both knew it. 

"Where's the camera?" Buck asked. 

"Floorboard," he said, and watched Buck pretzel himself down to retrieve it. 

Buck thumbed through the pictures, whistling now and again. "Damn, Chris, we've got him for life."

"If we can catch him," Chris said.

Buck looked at him. "You think we won't? You think this won't work?"

Chris shrugged a shoulder, uneasy now in a way he hadn't been all day. "I don't know," he admitted. "Fowler's a slick sonofabitch and there's no telling who all he's got on his payroll. Could be judges, police…."

"Travis?" Buck said it, and Chris was glad because he'd been thinking it but been unwilling to give voice to the suspicion.

"It doesn't seem likely," he tried, a weak defense he didn't feel. 

"Yeah, but not much has lately. Look Chris, neither one of us wants it to be Orrin," Buck said slowly. "But I told Captain Barker to be sure not to contact him all the same."

Chris sighed, drumming his fingertips on the steering wheel. It was hard to know any man, really, but he'd always thought he knew Orrin Travis. If Orrin was bad, Chris would be able to count the people he really trusted outside their own office on two fingers, starting with himself and ending with Buck. It wasn't a good feeling. 

They got to Macon at ten-thirty and Buck coordinated with Vin and Josiah by phone, then directed Chris to pull into a mini-mart a few blocks from the bar. Captain Barker had called Buck while they were on the road, logging in plenty of overtime it seemed. They had a contact with the Macon P.D., fortunately not Detectives Meek or Bowen, but Chris figured those two would make themselves a part of this bust anyway. "Where are JD and Ezra?" he asked as soon as Josiah climbed out of his SUV. 

"They're with the local law," Josiah said. "Not far away, they've set up in an empty warehouse. All the marked cars are inside and they blacked out the windows, so it looks pretty innocuous from the street." 

"Good." Chris called the number Captain Barker had given Buck while Buck fueled up the SUV and Vin did the same for the other car. The guy on the phone, Quentin Porter, was gruff and efficient, running down the number of plainclothes officers already in the bar and telling Chris a S.W.A.T. team stood at the ready. 

"Just remember, four of the people in that bar will be me or my men," Chris reminded the guy, "so make sure your guys know who not to fire on." 

"We got email from a Mel Sullivan of the Atlanta PD. He sent us photographs of every member of W&L, and we've already distributed them to all of our people in general and the S.W.A.T. team in particular. Listen, you're not far from me," he said then. "I'll drive over to your location. Sit tight." 

Sit tight. Right. They had fifteen minutes or so to wait based on Porter's estimated time of arrival, so Chris checked with Josiah and Vin to see if either of them had eaten. Then he walked into the store and grabbed hamburgers and hot dogs out of the little warming trays, and bottles of water. Buck had started in on JD's road snacks when they'd stopped in Atlanta for ammunition, and the bag in their car was already empty. Maybe they should have stopped for dinner somewhere but Chris hadn't been able to tolerate the idea of wasting more time. Now he regretted it; his stomach was empty and burning, and greasy gas station hamburgers weren't exactly high on his list of favorite foods. 

Buck would love them, he thought, loading up both hot dogs with chili and onions. He grinned; Buck's breath alone would take down the killer, if he got close enough. 

Vin came in just as Chris was half-spilling the stack of food onto the cashier's counter. "Need a hand?" Vin asked, then picked up one of the burgers and took a big bite. 

"Thanks, that'll make all the difference," Chris said, and Vin just grinned at him, close-mouthed thank God, his cheeks puffed out like a squirrel with meat and bread. 

Vin polished off the first burger before Chris got his change back, then grabbed up the cardboard tray of hotdogs and two of the water bottles. "You got the rest?"

"Yeah," Chris told him, and let Vin hold open the door with his boot so Chris could get out. 

Buck and Josiah had moved the cars around to the side of the building, not quite in the shadow of the dumpsters but near enough that Chris didn't feel like a sitting duck out here. "I got dinner," he said unnecessarily; Buck had already grabbed the first hotdog and one of the bottles of water. He was shoveling down big bites like a Pez dispenser in reverse, almost as bad as Vin. 

"Thanks," Josiah said, and helped him dump the food out onto the hood of one of the cars. They grabbed burgers for themselves and Chris stood back to watch Buck and Vin argue over the two remaining hamburgers, Buck obviously thinking his hotdog was safe. 

"There's a whole store full inside," Chris pointed out, holding his burger closer to his chest when Buck started eying it. 

"Where's the fun in just buying them?" Buck asked him, and sidled up close. Chris transferred the burger to his left hand, farther away from his partner, and tried to tilt his head to one side when Buck nuzzled at his cheek. 

That was when the patrol car turned into the parking lot. 

Quentin Porter had a mustache, coffee-brown skin, and an obvious problem with two men nuzzling in a well-lit gas station. Chris frowned when Porter crossed his arms over his chest, threw an offended glance between him and Buck, and said, "You can't be Chris Larabee." 

"Yeah, I can," he said. "This idiot is Buck Wilmington," he said, nodding toward his partner who had backed all of a foot away. "And this is Josiah Sanchez and Vin Tanner." Josiah held out his hand to shake and Porter took it, still staring dubiously at Chris. 

"I heard the guy we're after is a suspect in the murder of your wife and son?" he asked, clearly confused. 

Chris wasn't in a mood to enlighten him. "That's right." 

Porter shrugged and got down to business. "We have four people in the bar, drinking near beer on the public payroll. Two of your people, Standish and Dunne, have already checked in with us and they're behind the lines in a warehouse just up the road. I'll be going there too after this. We'll close in with the S.W.A.T. team after you're in place."

"That ought to do it," Buck said. 

Porter shook his head. "I don't know what you've got on Captain Brady to get him to back a bunch of armed cowboys. This is a bullshit plan, you don't mind my saying." 

Chris did mind, but he stuffed the rest of his hamburger in his mouth to keep from saying it, and took a minute to sweep the trash off the hood and throw it into the dumpster. "It's the best we've got," he said finally, "and my people and I are tired of waiting for him to commit another murder." 

"Another?"

"Detectives Meek and Bowen were at my house this morning asking questions about the bartender of 'The Kickin' Mule. We think it was Fowler who killed him last night." 

"Why?" Porter asked. 

Chris couldn't say where they thought the evidence would turn up without telling the guy he'd broken into an old couple's home, and he wasn't ready to start advertising that fact unless he was under oath with a deal brokered. "Are you ready to get moving?" he asked. 

"Yeah, yeah. We'll be keeping a wide perimeter until we spot Fowler, so keep alert in there."

"We will," Buck said, and slung an arm around Chris's shoulder. Maybe to annoy Porter and maybe because he was about to set himself up to get shot at, Chris didn't shrug Buck off. 

He did turn his head sideways to get a good look at Buck's face, though. "You wanna let go of me for five minutes?" Chris asked him. Buck wasn't usually one for public displays that didn't involve annoying Ezra. He didn't avoid them, but he was generally more attentive to the people around him and didn't try to rub their relationship in strangers' faces. 

Buck looked back at him, close enough that his face was a little blurry. "No," Buck said. 

Chris rolled his eyes. "Let's go." 

Chris parked right under a streetlight and walked in a little after eleven, leaving Buck, Vin and Josiah to find an equally obvious parking space and come in behind him. He looked around the crowded room and spotted an empty table in a corner with no view of the stage and nothing but wall behind it. It would be good enough. 

When Buck came in a few minutes later, Chris yelled, "Get out of here!" over the music. 

"This band is terrible!" Buck hollered, and Chris would have agreed if it were worth the effort to make himself heard. A cheap, tinny guitar twanged as a woman sang cheap tales of heartache and woe over equally cheap speakers, and Chris rubbed at his temples, feeling a headache starting up already.

He waved to a passing waitress. "Boilermaker," he yelled, "and he's not staying!"

"Diet Pepsi," Buck said, a little quieter. "I'm the chauffer." 

She looked at him quizzically but she wrote down the order on a napkin and took off before Josiah and Vin dragged up chairs and squeezed in beside them. Vin leaned in close to shout, "You're a damned fool, coming here, Larabee!" Then quieter, "This ain't too subtle."

It wasn't. They were going to sit here until the crowd thinned out, then Chris was going to start drinking hard—or appear to. Vin and Josiah would leave first, and after they staged what would look like a fight, Buck would walk out. Vin and Josiah would take their car far enough away that anyone watching would think they'd really left, and Buck would take the car Chris had driven up in when he followed. Their plan was to come in to back up the police. He doubted the cops would approve, if they knew. 

Nothing could go wrong, if all the cops were clean and Fowler was as plugged in to the happenings of this place as Chris believed he was. Nothing at all, except that he could get his head blown off. Buck too, or any of the others… when the waitress returned with his drink he downed the whiskey in one, ignoring the look Buck gave him. If he tossed back a couple more like that, the fight he and Buck were supposed to have wouldn't need to be faked. 

Vin, impatient and probably as critical of this plan as Chris suddenly was, pushed out of his chair a half an hour later. "I'm not staying to watch you commit suicide by whiskey or any other way!" he yelled, loud enough that at least a couple of people at the nearby tables must have heard. "Josiah! Come on, we're getting out of this dump." 

Josiah frowned at Vin but he rose too and followed him out the door. 

Chris felt that spot between his shoulder blades start to itch. 

When the bar was down to a dozen or so hard-core drinkers, one waitress, and two bartenders, Buck started making noises. "You really are an idiot for coming here, Chris," he yelled, playing his part. 

"Get the hell away from me," Chris said, his voice a little slurred. Buck looked at him worriedly but Chris didn't try to reassure him. He wasn't drunk, had in fact managed to dump out all of the last two whiskeys he'd ordered on the floor. The fear coiling in his gut and the itch between his shoulder blades guaranteed that the three drinks he'd actually had did nothing more than steady his hands. But then, booze never had hit him like it seemed to hit other people. 

"Chris?" The country band had broken up so they didn't need to yell so much to make sure they were heard. "I'll drag your ass out of here if I have to," Buck warned. His voice was hard, and probably not faked. 

"You can try," Chris growled, and took a long draw off his beer. 

"Chris, I'm not gonna leave you here to get yourself killed!" 

"Nobody asked you to come, Buck," he shouted, half-rising from his chair. "Nobody asked you to interfere in my life, not then and for sure as hell not now!" 

Buck shoved his own chair back, the scraping of wood on wood loud in the suddenly quiet bar. "You know what, you surly bastard? You're on your own. You deserve whatever the hell you get, because you can't help but bring it all on yourself."

"Fuck you," Chris muttered. 

Buck snatched Chris's keys off the table. "Find your own ride home," he snarled. Buck glared at him for a long moment, and then spun around and headed for the door. Chris did watch Buck leave, and thought about how Buck had kissed him last night after he'd crawled out from under the covers. He thought about how Buck should have been mad enough not to let him into bed, but Buck Wilmington couldn't hold a grudge if he tried. He thought about what Buck's come had tasted like in his mouth last night, and the onion-y flavor that cinnamon gum hadn't completely covered up in the car outside the mini-mart. 

He thought about Sarah, and Adam, and a burned out car and Buck holding him in the dark behind a fire truck, and he closed his eyes. One way or another, that part of his life would be put to rest tonight. 

Buck met up with the black-uniformed S.W.A.T. team leader a quarter mile from the bar, and settled in to wait. He'd once been good at holding the fine tension needed in preparation for a bust, but he'd obviously lost that skill. That loss, or the simple fact that his partner was the bait in that bar, had his nerves on such an edge that his skin felt too tight for his body. He checked his watch ten times in five minutes, then shoved his left hand into his pocket to keep himself from doing it again. 

That lasted for almost two minutes. 

He cast his eyes around the building, identifying team leaders by the patches on their gear, the quiet stillness of most of the people grating on him. They ought to be doing something, damn it. 

But there was nothing to do but wait. 

Buck had dialed a number Porter had given him and left his cell phone in the seat beside Chris, and it was the only intelligence they had left; cops poking around or setting up cameras would have alerted the staff, and the phone one of the plainclothes officers had left had already been picked up by the waitress, turned off, and presumably dropped in a "lost and found" box. Three 17-inch monitors were set up, all relaying the entrances and exits to the bar on split screens. 

More patrons filtered out as the minutes ticked by, but nobody went in. 

Between midnight and one, each one of his friends came up to him, gave him a look or a word of reassurance or squeezed his arm. Vin came around last and stood right by him, the pressure of his shoulder against Buck's hard and warm and reassuring. He leaned a little into the touch, silently thanking Vin for trying even though it wasn't enough, couldn't be. Nothing but seeing Chris come out of that bar alive was going to be enough for him. The hours that crawled past were some of the longest of his life. 

Portable speakers amplified the open phone line that caught all kinds of noise: music from an old jukebox, the waitress's voice calling fewer and fewer drink orders, and Chris's mutterings. "Come and get me, you bastard. You took her, so here's your chance to finally get who you were aiming for."

It was hard to listen to, hard enough that Buck wanted badly to walk away, or reach out and turn off the damned speakers, but they were all he had, all the police had. 

Detective Meek came up in black pants, Kevlar vest and utility boots. "Mr. Wilmington… Buck?"

He jerked his head up. "Yeah?"

"It's coming up on two. No sign of him yet."

"He'll be here," Buck said. He was sure it would be an insane move if Fowler did show up, but he'd seen the look on Chris's face early in that bar, and knew Chris felt like he was being watched. Somebody in that bar had been watching them, was probably still watching Chris now. 

"How could you possibly know?"

Vin's shoulder pressed his a little harder, enough that he had to set his weight and lean back to avoid losing his balance. "I can't explain it, ma'am. But somebody in there is Cletus Fowler's eyes and ears, and he'll show." 

She didn't look like she believed him, and Buck didn't blame her. "I hope you're right," she said though, and Buck smiled weakly in thanks. He kind of hoped he wasn't. 

The speaker crackled with noise, then a woman's voice. "Mister? Mister, it's last call. You want another one before you hit the road?"

"I'm not going anywhere," Chris growled, "not until he and I finish this." 

"He, who?" She sounded honestly confused. Buck wondered if she was. 

Then Chris's voice, hard and loud enough to be heard out in the parking lot probably, "Fowler! Where the hell are you, you bastard!"

Detective Meek looked startled, and her hands tightened on the barrel of the shotgun she held. 

"Mister," a voice said, it must be the waitress or whoever had been tending bar, "we don't want any trouble. You'd best not ask for things you don't want, and get on out of here now."

"Fuck you." Chris was definitely in fine form, and probably he wasn't even faking it. Buck didn't know what Chris had been thinking while he sat alone in that bar, but he could guess. "Fowler! Get out here and show yourself, you piss-ant pile of shit! You worm!"

A minor commotion caught Buck's eye and he turned his head, watching three S.W.A.T. team members huddle up with their heads close together. "What?" he asked, then louder, "What, damn it!" 

Meek caught his arm, her head tilted in a way that let Buck know she was listening to the headset stuck in her ear. "Movement," she said, "back of the bar. Somebody sticking to the shadows, nobody saw how they got that close." Buck sucked in a breath and pulled away from Vin. "They're inside," she said, repeating whoever she was listening to, and then suddenly the stiff silence of all the men and women around him changed and everybody was moving, fast, some to a van but most running on foot. 

Josiah appeared right in front of him and grabbed the front of his jacket, tugging hard. "Come on, Buck, we've got a date with the devil." 

Then Buck was off and running, ignoring the shout from Meek to stand down, ignoring everything except his feet pounding the pavement, weaving through shadows and streetlights with Josiah in front of him, JD and Ezra behind. He didn't know where Vin was, and thought suddenly of Nathan, wondered if Raine had had the baby. 

But he had time for no more than that one thought before every piece of his brain filled up with one word, one face: Chris. 

Police tried to stop them at the edge of The Kickin' Mule's parking lot, but Josiah distracted two of them and Buck, Ezra, and Vin slipped on through. They'd lost JD somewhere along the way, and Buck felt sure they were all going to be too late, just like the last time. Only now he'd be the one left alone, and there'd be nobody to pick up the pieces of him. 

"Fowler!" Chris shouted again, as mad as he'd ever been, and as sober for all that he tried to slur. The male bartender came out from behind the counter, his hands up; the female stayed behind the bar and he couldn't see her hands. He wasn't worried about her.

"Mister," the guy said, "I don't know what your problem is, but I don't like to call the cops on our customers."

"Cops," he laughed, "right. You tell Fowler I'm fucking sick of his shadow plays. He wants me, I'm right here."

A light flickered just outside his line of sight; he turned his head, saw a lighter set fire to the rounded tip of a cigarillo. A cigarillo in Cletus Fowler's mouth. "So you are, Mr. Larabee. I have to say I'm surprised you want to die so badly." 

"You killed my wife and son," Chris growled, his heart hammering in his chest now. "Why?"

Fowler shrugged. "It seemed like a good idea." Behind him, other men fanned out, five or six, Chris wasn't sure because he was staring so hard at Fowler. The woman behind the bar had disappeared. 

"You think this is funny, you sonofabitch?"

"I have to admit," Fowler said easily, "I enjoyed it at the time. Though that bomb was meant for you; it's not my fault they got in the way."

"Who the hell are you, what did I ever do to—"

"Please," Fowler cut him off. "It was a business decision. You were in my business, or on the opposite side of it. You were no innocent." 

Chris felt tears burn as it hit him, something he'd always known, that his life was what had caused Sarah's death, and Adam's. That his career had gotten them both killed. That ultimately, it really was his responsibility, if not his fault. "They were innocent," he stuttered out, tight and harsh. "They were."

Fowler shrugged. "Guilt by association." 

"I'm going to kill you, Fowler," Chris growled, low in his throat.

"Mr. Larabee, I believe you've got that backwards." Fowler flipped his coat back over an old-fashioned holster at the same time Chris heard noise outside the front of the bar. Fowler did too, and spun toward it, whipping out two semi-automatics. 

Chris wasn't sure Buck could make it to the bar ahead of the police, but he wasn't taking any chances again. "Fowler!" he shouted, throwing the table over as he ducked behind it and pulled his own gun. Maybe the Kevlar he'd made Buck promise to wear—that he was wearing himself—would stop whatever bullets Fowler and his men were using. But he wasn't going to count on it. "You're a dead man! I'm gonna kill you right here and now!" 

Noise from the back of the bar, booted feet and shouts: the cavalry had finally arrived, but if anything that just increased the number of targets for Fowler's men to shoot at, and they opened fire with all they had, trying to catch the cops in the bottleneck of the entry hall. Lights were the first to go, probably thrown by the cops, but Chris could still make out Fowler from the emergency lighting that flickered on over doors and weirdly, kept the neon lights behind the bar burning. Fowler's men had taken up defensive positions much like Chris's and were covering the doors from good angles. 

"Buck!" he shouted.

"Here!" 

"God damn it! Get your ass down!" he shouted, madder at his partner than he could remember being in his life. "Get your fucking head down!" 

He heard it then, the laughter, crazy and wild and much-loved, Buck probably scared enough he was ready to piss his pants and still finding something funny in this clusterfuck, laughing his defiance at the world. "I'm down!" Buck shouted, and Chris heard it then, strange and unexpected; he was laughing, too. 

He was going to kill Buck Wilmington, but not for at least another forty years or so. "Idiot!" he shouted, trying to draw a bead on Fowler where he was pressed up beneath the front of the bar. He fired once, and wood splinters from a barstool leg went flying. 

"You too!" Buck shouted back. The smell of Ballistite was thick in the air, and muzzle fire kept blinding him. Fowler was inching along the front of the bar…

"You're not getting out of this alive, Cletus!" he shouted, glad that the henchmen were more concerned with the cops than with him. They had to know they were outnumbered and outgunned, had to be looking for a way out but Chris was the one who saw it, a window that had been painted black, just behind the low stage. "Go for it, you sonofabitch," he whispered. "Just go for it." 

"This is the police!" somebody shouted, and Chris caught himself laughing again. Like that wasn't already obvious. "We've got the building surrounded, throw down your weapons!"

"You first!" Fowler called, and he was still inching down beneath the bar, behind the bar chairs and visible only because he still had that damned cigar in his mouth. 

"Chris!" Buck again. "I've got him!"

Then take him,, Chris wanted to say, but he and Buck had no authority here, and he didn't want to see Buck on a witness stand in six months explaining why he'd done something so right in the wrong place, for the wrong reasons and most importantly, in front of the wrong witnesses. "Don't shoot him, Buck!" he yelled, and thought he heard Buck cuss him. 

This couldn't last much longer; the place really had to be surrounded with law enforcement personnel by now, even if they had shown up late to the party. He backed away from the table and crawled on his belly toward the front corner of the bar where he knew Buck would be. It was a long crawl though, and before he got there he heard a pained yelp and then another, and finally Fowler yelled, "Stop the shooting! Stop shooting!" The gunfire dropped off like popcorn in a pan, a couple of last stuttered pops and then nothing. The lights came up just as he found Buck in the corner, still wearing a shit-eating grin, his eyes wild and bright. 

"You idiot," he said, and kissed him. 

He felt the world shift but it was just Buck grabbing him around the shoulders and rolling him onto his back. Buck's dick was hard against him—no surprise there, excitement just did that to the man—and distantly, he heard someone say, 

"Pansies. They're a coupla fucking pansies!" He pushed Buck off him enough to lift his head, caught Detective Meek jabbing the stock of her shotgun into a S.W.A.T. guy's belly. His Kevlar was probably protecting him from the pain of impact, but he half-doubled over anyway.

"No shit, Piro," she muttered. 

Chris dropped his head back to the floor and beat it gently against the wood until the urge to start laughing again passed. 

It took an hour for them to get the site locked down and figure out who'd shot Fowler. When Chris had dragged himself up to go and stare at the man on the floor, he'd seen the wounds, two clean shots through the calf, and been pretty sure, but he'd waited for Vin to volunteer his rifle and agree that yes ma'am, he was a civilian and no sir, he probably shouldn't have taken the shot but, "Well, nobody else seemed like they were gonna do it." 

"You know, we should hire that man," Ezra said, musingly. 

Chris shot Buck a look, read his grin and his raised eyebrows, and thought about it. Maybe they should. 

Most of the law enforcement personnel were keeping well back from him and Buck, and Chris knew it was because the news of that lip lock in the bar had made the rounds. He didn't care though, and spent most of his time standing around waiting with Buck's hand in his, warm and hard and alive. 

Detective Meek went the opposite direction, sticking close even after she'd taken their statements. He looked up at Buck, mouthed, "Dyke?"

Buck frowned at him. "No. You know I don't flirt with the gay chicks, Chris." 

Chris snorted. 

Buck slid his hand out of Chris's then over his shoulders. Chris looked around, decided that they were far enough in the shadows of the parking lot that he could afford to grab Buck's ass, and did so, up under the hang of his jacket just to feel the muscle tighten against his palm. 

"You keep doing that," Buck leaned in to whisper, "and I'm gonna drag you out behind a dumpster somewhere."

"I'd let you," Chris said, smiling as Buck's eyes dilated wide. 

"Damn, Chris," Buck breathed, "I'm gonna have to let you get shot at more often."

"No you're not," Chris replied, and slid his hand to safer territory, hooking a finger in one of Buck's belt loops. "Pal, I'm a sure thing." 

Buck looked at his partner, really looked at him; his eyes were washed out almost gray in the glaring sideways cant of the lights outside the warehouse, but they were clear like they hadn't been in weeks, and Chris didn't look tired at all. He looked… Buck sucked in a breath. Joyful. That was how he looked. Buck licked his lips, feeling some kind of weird joy himself. 

Chris looked happy more often than most people would guess, and satisfied, and lazy and content and loving, but joyful? That wasn't a word Buck got to use much when describing his partner. And it was an odd one to use now, but Buck had a thought or two about what had put that look there: the fight, the insanity of it and the fact that their gamble had paid off; the knowledge that the warrant had been served in Brunswick and police officers were collecting a goldmine of evidence against Cletus Fowler and dozens of other drugs or arms dealers in the region. It was Christmas in June for the State Drug Task Force and probably plenty of other alphabets, all courtesy of W&L Bail Bonds and Investigations, and Buck reckoned it would be a long while before anyone on their team picked up so much as a speeding ticket. But it was more than that, Buck knew. It was the satisfaction of having finished this once and for all; and maybe just a little of Chris really being here, full-on one hundred percent here, right beside him. 

Buck knew he oughtn't to push his luck but he felt pretty damned lucky right now, so he tilted his head a little and opened his mouth, offering, but here of all places with fifty or more police officers milling around not twenty feet away, willing to be told no. 

Chris didn't say no. 

He said yes with his eyes first and then with his smile, and then his mouth, soft and warm and with his tongue, slick and demanding and wet and trying to give him a tonsillectomy right here in a parking lot in Macon Georgia. Buck was half hard before his ears registered somebody clearing his throat nearby and he ignored the sound as Chris pushed his fingers into Buck's hair to hold him in place and Buck tried damned hard to unhinge his jaw, to let Chris even further inside him. 

"Hey, knock it off!" a masculine voice said. 

Buck had to work to pull away from the tight grip of Chris's hands, but he managed it after another few seconds. He'd be damned if he was going to let some pissy little trumped-up uniform keep him from what he wanted. He turned toward the cop with a friendly smile on his wet mouth, surreptitiously licking his lips. "Yeah?" he grinned. "Something we can do for you?"

"You can cut that out," the guy said, glaring at them with a look on his face that rivaled any of Ezra's. 

"Something we're willing to do for you?" Chris cut in, giving the guy a hard look. 

"Sign your statements," the guy grunted. "Then you can get the hell out of here."

Chris's hand found its way into Buck's back pocket. "Want to go find a motel somewhere?" he asked Buck, plenty loud for the offended uniform to hear.

"No," Buck said, surprising them both, "I want to take you home." 

They went side by side to the makeshift table someone had set up off the tailgate of a pick-up truck. JD was leaning against the bed, smoking a cigarette and grinning widely at them both. "You two are driving these guys crazy, you know," he said, laughing. 

"I'm surprised Ezra hasn't been egging them on," Chris said, and Buck looked around for him, thinking they really shouldn't be so rubbing it in these people's faces but not caring much. 

"Are you kidding?" JD asked, still grinning widely. "He's been defending you guys!"

Buck blinked. "Yeah?" he asked. 

"Oh hell yeah," Vin said, coming around the other side of the truck. "Said he doesn't like seeing folks try to tarnish the heroes of the hour and threatening to sue them for prejudicial treatment." He chortled. "I don't think bitching and moaning while they kiss both your asses counts as discrimination, though." 

Chris's hand found Buck's butt and squeezed, proprietary. "This ass isn't on the market for kicking or kissing," he said with a grin, and Buck laughed out loud, delighted. 

"Come on, Lead Dog, let's get you back to the kennel."

"We'll be right behind you," JD called out.

But Vin said, "Not that close," and his laughter followed them back to the rental car. 

He let Chris drive home, content to sit half-sideways in the passenger seat and look at his face in the dim shadows of the dashboard lights. Chris looked so damned peaceful, which was unexpected given the violence they'd just stepped away from. And he kept tossing Buck smiles, the first ones pretty dirty, then softer and sweeter, and finally, by the time they got to Stockbridge, just tired. Buck revised his plans with no regret and reached for Chris's hand where it rested on the console between the seats. Chris caught it and held it, smiling again. The man's face was going to start hurting if he didn't cut that out soon, Buck thought with a smile of his own. 

"We should take the plunge and move to a new office," Buck said. 

"Why?" 

"Well, ours is already ruined, so cleanup's going to be a bitch and moving won't make it that much worse. And well… lots of things are changing," he said lamely. "Might as well change that now too."

"What else is changing?" Chris asked him. 

Buck just stared at the side of Chris's face. If Chris hadn't figured that out yet, he wasn't about to enlighten him. "What do you think of Vin?" he asked, slipping sideways on the subject. 

"He was good tonight, damned good. Caught Fowler when half a S.W.A.T. team couldn't find an angle on him, took him clean. Handled the cops pretty good." Chris glanced over at him. "Are you really thinking we should hire him?"

"Hell yes!" Buck said. "He's used to the road. He's level-headed. He'll make us a fortune and we can start spending more time at home. Besides," Buck said, mulling things over in his head, "he doesn't have much to keep him in Wyoming. I get the feeling a change of place would do him good, let him finally move on from that emotional shitpile he's got going for himself there." 

"Those people are his family, Buck," Chris chided. 

"Yeah, and if he isn't still in some kind of love with the guy who married the pretty woman and is right now raising a passel of kids, I'll eat my hat." 

He watched Chris mull it over, content to wait him out and too tired, really, to do much else. "Buck… you get the feeling maybe we wouldn't be doing him any favors, getting him down here?"

"How do you mean?"

"He—" Chris stopped, and Buck wondered what had his partner treading so carefully. 

"Spit it out, Chris."

"Nothing. I just get the feeling he might care a little bit too much about you. Maybe me too," Chris said, and shrugged. 

Buck hadn't given that much thought. He knew Vin was hot for him, but sweet on him? "You think?"

"I don't know," Chris admitted. "Hell, maybe I'm jumping at shadows as fast as you were jumping him." 

"Funny man. I'm serious. I think we'd do him a world of good, getting him out of there and onto the team." 

"This a purely business decision?" Chris asked, arching an eyebrow at him. 

Now that, that did deserve thinking about, and Buck did, all the way through downtown Atlanta. 

They pulled up to the farm about half an hour later, just in time too, from the way Chris's eyelids were drooping. "Come on," Chris said, "we need to get the stuff out of the car."

"We can just…" a chiding look from Chris shut him up. Buck always wanted to leave their shit in the car, and when he did, it stayed there for weeks sometimes. "Okay. Probably ought to have the guns in the house anyway. Hell, we don't know how James is gonna react to this." 

"Yeah." Chris yawned. "Or if he's even involved."

Chris had already told Buck that there were no files on James, which just boggled Buck's mind but he'd wait for the cops to figure it all out. Still, if James hadn't been involved in Sarah's murder, then their lives might just settle back down. "Just get it all in the front door and leave a light on so nobody trips over anything, and I'll be happy," Chris told him. 

Buck was happy already, but he didn't say it. The silence between them was quiet and comfortable, beautiful really, and it didn't need filling with words. 

Chris looked to Buck, expecting a reply and a little surprised when he didn't get one. Buck's shoulders were sagging, and Chris remembered why the man hadn't gotten much sleep the past few nights… he'd fix that if he could, lock the bedroom door and threaten anybody who got too loud with imminent death. Or docking of their paychecks. It was good to be the boss. One of them, anyway. 

They dropped everything but the guns in the front hall and unloaded the firearms in the bedroom, stacking the rifle and shotguns in a corner and pitching the handguns onto a closet shelf. He turned in time to see Buck, one arm upraised, sniffing at his own armpit. "I could use a shower," Buck said, half a frown on his face. 

Chris was tempted to smell himself too, but he hardly needed to try. "I'll help."

Buck stepped up to him and put careful hands to his waist. "I'm not gonna be able to give you much of anything," he said, apologetic enough that Chris was almost amused. 

He slid his arms around Buck's waist and pulled him close enough that their hips bumped. "You give me all I need," he said softly, letting his face say everything else. 

Buck's face took on a familiar, pained look that Chris recognized and was all too happy to be the one who put it there. Buck was the kind of man who felt so much he hurt sometimes, and Chris loved him for that as much as for everything else. He captured Buck's face between his palms and pressed a quiet kiss to his lips, then pulled back enough to rub his nose against Buck's mustache. 

"Had an itch," he said, and grinned, watching Buck's mustache twitch as Buck frowned in vague irritation. "Gave it to you," he added unnecessarily. 

Buck grinned back, and then they were back to routine, stripping down and plodding into the bathroom, sharing the shower with only the goal of getting clean. They stood together in the oversized stall, moving easily around each other without a word, with barely a guiding touch, and soon enough they were back in the bedroom and sliding between cool, clean sheets. He tugged and maneuvered until Buck lay on his side tucked up under Chris's arm, his wet hair chilly against Chris's chest, mirror-opposite the way they usually slept, but Chris wanted to be the one holding tonight, just lie here and enjoy the now-rare quiet in their home. He combed his fingers through the dark curls, knowing that without all Buck's primping it was going to look like crap tomorrow, wild and unruly. Or at least, Buck would think it did; Chris kind of liked it that way, untamed. Like Buck. 

He heard the gate alarm bleat and tensed, but before either of them could move, his cell phone rang. It was Ezra. "We didn't know if you'd be awake or not," Ezra said, his own voice heavy with exhaustion, "but I wanted to be sure you two didn't come out shooting."

"That you guys at the gate?" he asked, putting it together. 

"Yes. So if you're not asleep, please for everyone's sake take whatever you're doing to your bedroom and shut the door." 

"We're already in bed, Ezra," Chris said, not interested in elaborating. "Thanks." He hung up fast. "The boys are back," he said, and they lay there together in silence, heard the front door open and close, and quiet movements as each man went to whatever place he'd decided to sleep tonight. 

Everyone was safe then. There was nothing at all he wanted in that moment, even though he knew that everything they'd left undone and everything they had to fix was just waiting for tomorrow morning. That was all right, and tomorrow was soon enough to start figuring out all the pieces that needed attending to: liaise with law enforcement from half the state probably, get his deal with the D.A. so he could testify against Fowler and admit what he'd seen in Cletus's parents' home; start looking for a new office space because Buck was right, if they had to clean up the mess anyway then now was as good a time as any to make that leap; call Nathan and Raine and find out about the baby which must surely be born by now… he was utterly content, drifting along with Buck pressed up against him until he realized that what he felt nudging his leg wasn't Buck's knee—he laughed, low. 

"Damn, Buck," he whispered, awed by the man's capacity. 

Buck grumbled against his chest and pulled his hips back a few inches. "Damn thing doesn't know it's time for bed."

"I'd say it knows exactly," Chris teased with a grin, easing onto his side. He trailed warm fingers down Buck's cool flank, but Buck tucked his hips back further and grabbed Chris's wrist. 

"Don't worry about it," Buck muttered. "I'm so damned tired I can't believe I can even get it up."

"I can," Chris said, amused. He tugged his wrist out of Buck's grip, the move taking more effort than he expected it to. "Buck?"

"This is nice," Buck said, "just letting you hold me. The one-eyed monster has a mind of his own."

"I like the way he thinks," Chris admitted, even though his own dick was as limp as a dishrag. He tried to reach for it again. 

"It's not a problem Chris," Buck said, oddly reluctant. 

Chris just shook his head in the dark and slid his hand down over Buck's hip to his groin, stroked his fingers feather-light up the long shaft. "No," he said easily, "it's not." He tilted his head enough to collect a kiss and gripped the shaft lightly, moving his hand up and down the length of Buck, measuring the heft with circled thumb and finger. 

"Chris, you don't have to…" Buck tried once more, halfheartedly. 

Chris grinned. "No kidding," he said, added, "You'll sleep better." He worked Buck so slowly that the man's whole body grew tight with tension and he was panting, the moisture in his breath making a damp spot against Chris's chest. "That's it," he soothed, moving so slow and easy, pleasuring his own soul just by giving Buck this touch. It was almost enough to make him respond himself, feeling the heft of Buck's dick in his hand, hearing those keening, breathy noises and feeling how tightly Buck worked to hold himself still and quiet, but only almost. He was too tired, and too content to need it anyway. 

He used his head to nudge Buck's chin up and kissed him, as soft and slow and deep as the movements of his arm, and Buck spilled that way, his mouth sealed tight against Chris's, the pleasured groan an explosion of air inside his mouth and while usually, Buck's orgasms triggered Chris's own pleasure, tonight all he felt was gratitude, and all he tasted on Buck's tongue was love. 

"Feel better?" he asked a few minutes later, sliding his sticky hand over Buck's hip.

"I felt great before," Buck mumbled, and yawned. 

"Yeah," Chris said, pulling him a little closer, "you did."

Friday, June 8

Chris woke up to a slight headache and cold sheets, and lifted his head muzzily, wondering what had awakened him. Buck stood in the door to their bedroom, dressed in his skimpy running shorts and a tank top and blowing steam off the top of a coffee mug. 

"That for me?" he mumbled, pushing up onto his elbows. 

"I'd share," Buck said with a grin. "Get your skinny ass up. We're going for a run." 

Chris dropped his head back to the pillow and closed his eyes for the space of a breath. He was right on the edge of saying, Do we have to?, but he knew after all the times he'd dragged Buck out that he'd never get away with it. Besides, with the sitting and driving and tension of recent days it would be good to get out. "Yeah," he said, and pushed himself out of bed. 

Buck relinquished his coffee and slapped Chris's bare ass. "Get a move on, everybody else is ready."

Everybody else? he thought, sucking down a long swallow of heaven in liquid form. But he didn't ask, just handed back the mug and dragged on clothes and shoes. 

"I'll be out front," Buck told him, surreptitiously stealing his coffee back on the way out. 

Chris found them out in the yard, and it really was all of them—Ezra was holding the side of Vin's truck and stretching his quads, Vin was jogging in place, laughing at something Buck was saying, even JD stood with them in sweatpants and running shoes but he was staring doubtfully down the drive. They looked like rejects from a beer commercial, and Chris grinned. 

They took off down the drive, all of them in a line that half-embarrassed Chris, but he set the pace and didn't look back when JD yelled, "That's it, I'm goin' home." When he did look back, he realized they'd lost Josiah too. 

"They're gonna meet us at Connie's," Buck told him. 

Connie's was about six miles from the house, farther out than they usually ran but the thought of a stack of pancakes as tall as Buck was a great motivator, and they got there in record time. Josiah's Astro Van had passed them on the road a mile back, and was parked out front amongst the crowd of cars. 

They piled into the restaurant together and Chris ignored the looks they got, four men in farm country sweating and flushed with exertion at—he looked for the clock on the wall—almost noon. Not many people ran out here, even though the suburbs were creeping closer every day. He sat down and ordered from the waitress who had clearly intended only to fill their coffee cups: "Eggs over easy, sausage, pancakes and keep 'em coming," he said, then looked at Buck. "Make it two." 

"Over medium on my eggs," Buck corrected her while she was still fumbling her order pad out of a pocket. 

Everybody else put their orders in and a few minutes later silence descended on their raucus table as each man concentrated on his food. Chris didn't stop until he felt his belly practically overstretching the waistband of his shorts, then leaned back and patted his overfull stomach. 

"That was…" Ezra looked disgusted, "a grotesque display." Chris looked at Ezra's empty plate that had once contained two poached eggs and dry toast, and grinned. 

"So what're we doing today?" JD asked, still working through his second stack of pancakes. 

Chris looked to Buck. 

"You guys can go into work if you want. Chris and I have to call the District Attorney first," Buck said, rattling off things as they came to mind, "get a deal on Chris's B&E and then tell her what he saw at Fowler's parents' place. Return the rentals Ezra got us, start cleaning out the security equipment at the farm, see what we can get a refund on—"

"Nothing, if it's been getting wet every night for the last week," JD interrupted. 

"We'll try anyway, kid," Buck said. "We don't even have room to store all that junk." 

They did, in the barn, and maybe… "We might as well look for a new office space," Chris volunteered, to assorted cheers and groans. Everybody wanted more room but nobody liked to move. "Everything else, we'll take it as it comes." He looked to Buck. "Celebrate on Sunday?" he asked, raising his eyebrows. He rarely asked the guys up to the house but they had plenty of reasons to throw a party. 

Buck slapped him on the shoulder. "Hell, yes!" 

Chris picked up the check and they all piled into Josiah's Astro Van for the ride home. 

Everyone on W&L's payroll had messages on their cell phones from Nathan; Raine had produced a beautiful baby girl who, he said, looked nothing at all like her father. 

Chris called them from the kitchen and put the phone on speaker. Nathan sounded so happy he was bursting at the seams; Raine sounded just as joyful, but tired, and Chris remembered how exhausted Sarah had been after delivering Adam, and how beautiful. The memory brought no pain with it, just a contented smile. He had a feeling that pain still waited around a corner for him, or whatever a man felt in the absence of pain long-carried, but it wasn't there today. He and Buck showered and changed while Josiah, Ezra, and JD went about packing up their things to return to their own homes, their own lives, and while Chris wondered if maybe it wasn't a little early to be doing so, he was so glad to have his house back that he didn't say anything. 

"You call Hunter?" he asked Buck, toweling his hair dry. 

"Yeah. She said she'd see us as soon as we wanted to come in, and to bring Vin along." 

Chris raised his eyebrows. "Yeah?"

Buck grinned widely. "Yeah." 

They caravanned downtown, Chris and Buck in Chris's Thunderbird, Vin driving one of the rentals, the rest of the guys in whatever needed driving. After they dropped off the cars, Ezra announced he was going to work. 

"Me too," JD said. "I'm gonna go broke recovering from this thing," he said, absently rubbing at his shoulder. "They got room for me at Travis's place?" he asked Josiah and Ezra equally. 

"We'll make room," Josiah said. "It's gonna be a pain to see what we can recover from the office, but we need to think about getting back there, getting out from under Quick Release before Ezra does something unforgivable."

Chris gave Ezra a hard stare, but Ezra merely said, "I can sue for libel, you know." 

Chris shrugged it off; Orrin could handle his own company, and the man still had something to answer for in Chris's mind, getting them all into this. 

Vin piled into the back of Chris's car for the drive over to the D.A.'s office. 

"Mr. Larabee," Abigail Hunter said, extending her hand. "Mr. Tanner, Buck." Chris grinned. Always "Buck". "I understand that you gentlemen have been pretty busy." 

Chris shrugged and slid into a visitor's chair in front of her desk. "I need a deal," he said while Buck took the other chair and Vin huddled against the wall near the door. 

She looked at the pile of papers on her desk and pulled several off the top of the stack. "This is a preliminary report on the warrant that was served on the home of Otis and Evelyn Fowler," she said. "If it pans out, you've got one. Though," she arched an eyebrow, "you're welcome to be as vague as you like during trial testimony." 

Chris shot Buck a grin. 

"Mr. Tanner, please stop hovering in the shadows and take a seat." She nodded toward a chair in the corner, and Vin pulled it up to the end of the desk. 

"Yes ma'am," he said. 

She dug through the stack again, pulling out a folder about halfway down and almost upsetting the whole mess. "This is a report from the US Attorney's office. Apparently they have a very cooperative witness." She frowned. "Not that I like how they're using him, but the charges against you in the murder of Jess Kincaid have been dropped. There's just the matter of you escaping police custody." 

Vin looked so relieved that he might just slide out of the chair into a puddle on the floor. "Thank you, ma'am. What are you charging for the escape?" 

She frowned, chewing on the end of a pen. "Under the circumstances and in light of the assistance you've provided the US attorneys in the James case, as well as the work you did with W&L and the Macon P.D. last night, I'll take misdemeanor obstruction, six months' probation and a fine."

"How big a fine?" he asked doubtfully. 

She looked at her notes. "Minimum $1,000 plus statutory fees, it'll work out to somewhere between…" she scribbled something, "twelve hundred and fifty-nine dollars and four thousand, thirty-eight dollars."

"I'll take the twelve hundred," Vin said with a grin. 

She glared at him. "We'll arrange a PO in Wyoming, and I expect that we won't hear of any trouble from you?"

"No ma'am." 

Chris pondered what Ezra had said, what he and Buck had been thinking themselves about trying to hire Vin. They'd cross that bridge when they came to it, and arrange for a local parole officer if Vin accepted the offer. If they made it. Buck opened his mouth to talk and Chris tapped the side of his shoe, shaking his head when Buck looked his way. Buck frowned, but subsided; now wasn't the time, and even Buck knew that. 

"All right then, we'll try to get you on the court docket in the next couple of weeks, see the judge, formalize the offer. As for you gentlemen," she said, turning her gaze back to Chris and Buck, "I can't say I appreciate what you've done—"

"Why?" Chris cut in. 

"You're gonna make quite a name for yourself off Fowler just off what we've got him for in Fulton County," Buck said, "and whoever else his files lead the police to. If you figure out how to co-counsel in all the other jurisdictions, Abby, you're gonna be famous."

"And busy," she replied, "and how many times do I have to tell you not to call me Abby?" 

Buck just grinned. 

Chris watched the spring in Vin's step as they left the DA's office; the man was fairly bouncing along. He nudged Buck with his elbow and nodded toward the sight. "Pretty, ain't he?" he said with a grin. Buck got a thoughtful look on his face that made Chris almost regret calling his partner's attention to Vin, but only almost. After last night and the last twenty-odd years, he really wasn't worried. At least, not at the moment. He grinned at himself, at his own foolhardiness, but he was in too good a mood to care. 

They should go back to work tomorrow, he knew. He knew also that they wouldn't, and he was just fine with that. A quiet weekend alone—or as alone as they could be with company still there, because Vin wasn't packing up until he'd arranged his probation—looked damned good, and they deserved more than that. Maybe if he dropped a hint or two, Buck would start planning a vacation again and he could blame Buck for them taking it when the guys started to complain. 

"We should get back to work," he said, just to watch Buck gawp at him. 

"Like hell! We needed a vacation a month ago, and by God Chris Larabee, we're gonna get one! The only thing you get to weigh in on is where we take it." 

Chris caught himself chuckling and tried to stop when Buck's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "How about I give you the weekend first, and then we'll see about vacations?"

"This, stud, is not up for discussion," Buck said, pushy and—and damned sexy for it. Chris felt a little like some piece of him had just woken up that he hadn't realized was asleep. 

"Then you're the one who gets to explain it to the guys," Chris said, amazed at how damned good he was at handling Buck. 

Buck smacked his ass, hard. "Don't think you're pulling one over on me," Buck groused, but his face still showed confusion. He might guess he was being played, but he had no idea about what. 

"Come on, let's get home." 

"I thought we were gonna go see Tim Fox."

"Today? Hell no," Chris said. He'd shown Buck the file folder, and barely remembered to retrieve it from the rental before they'd returned them. It was stuck under the passenger seat of his Thunderbird right this minute, and it could wait until Monday. 

"Well what do you want to do, then?" Buck asked. 

Chris raised his eyebrows.

The next smack on his butt was a lot more gentle and a lot more clear. 

Back at the farm, Chris watched Buck hustle Vin in ahead of them both, but he wasn't quite ready for another go, wasn't ready for fun and games right now. He caught Buck's arm and held him back to whisper as much, then followed Buck and Vin into the kitchen and leaned against the doorjamb while Buck flirted with Vin anyway. Vin kept sneaking glances Chris's way, but Chris just raised an eyebrow at him. Vin was a smart guy, and he picked up on Chris's look, turning his attention back to Buck but making sure to keep things light and playful. 

Chris approved. "Getting him warmed up for me?" he asked Vin. 

Vin chuckled and palmed Buck's crotch, fast and light, and that intimate touch probably sent more heat through Chris than Buck. "I think he's plenty warm already," Vin replied. "You two get on, I'm gonna get some fresh air." 

Buck shot Chris a look and read him too, then gave Vin a smile. "We won't be long," he said, ruffling Vin's hair. 

But they were. They went into the bedroom and lay down together, and Chris listened to Buck talk about grand vacation plans, French beaches where the women went topless, Caribbean islands with white sand. He'd even looked online and found a gay cruise that Chris emphatically and immediately vetoed. 

"Bad enough watching you stare at naked women," Chris groused, comfortable. One of the buttons on Buck's shirt had imprinted into his cheek but he couldn't be bothered to move. 

Buck's chuckle was a low rumble in his chest that vibrated against Chris's ear. "You think it's worse watching me stare at naked men?"

"Hell yes!" He was used to it with the women, at least. 

"I don't know," Buck mused, and his hands started wandering, "I think I'd like watching all the pretty boys eye you, knowing you'd be going back to my room with me."

Chris huffed out a breath of laughter. "A bunch of twenty-year-old kids with bodies by Nautilus aren't gonna be eying me, Buck," he said, pleased that Buck would think it nonetheless. "They might eye you," he added, because Buck would like him saying it and because it was a little bit true. Buck had something, the kind of energy and enthusiasm that drew people to him, male and female, young and old—Buck's laughter caught his attention. "What?"

"You," Buck said, low enough that his voice rumbled through his chest more than in the air around them. "You really don't know what you've got, do you?" Buck squeezed him a little tighter. "Damn, Chris. You're a natural-born leader. Everybody wants to follow you. Vin followed you even when he knew it'd piss me off, and he's about the lonest wolf we know." 

"There's always Ezra," Chris pointed out.

"And he follows you too. Deal with it, Chris, you're prime, Grade-A material and that's not gonna wear with age."

"Tell me that when I'm eighty."

"I will," Buck said like he meant it. 

"You're really looking to get fucked today, aren't you?" Chris asked, smiling as he palmed Buck's buttock through his jeans. 

"Wouldn't say no," Buck said easily. And Buck wouldn't. Even if it wasn't the first thing he might have thought of, he'd revel in that sensual pleasure like he did in any other. But Chris had fucked him a few days ago, been fucking him more lately than usual. 

He pushed up off Buck's chest and looked down into his eyes. "Wouldn't say no?" he asked. Buck looked confused for a second, then chuckled and curled up for a kiss. 

"You worry too much, you know that?" Buck grinned. "Worry too much about me." 

He thought about Buck in the line of fire less than 24 hours ago, laughing like an idiot and so close to death— "Can't be done," he said, and rose up to kiss him again, long and languorous and wet. His fingers went to shirt buttons of their own accord, working each one through the hole and spreading the fabric, touching skin with his spread palm. Buck's belly tightened when Chris reached it and he slid his hand to the side to pinch the tiny lip of fat there, grinning. He had to work hard to find that fat, more a flap of skin then a love handle, but he did it often, a long-time tease. 

Buck frowned and slapped at his hand, then sat up to shrug out of his shirt. Tanned skin, warm, dusted with dark hair and so different from Sarah's… so different and so precious. Chris closed his eyes, leaned in to rub his cheek against it, feeling his beard catch and tug at the hairs there. Buck held still for it, probably understanding but ever-patient when he didn't, then worked Chris's shirt free of his pants. Then while he was at it, worked Chris's pants off, and his own. He was hard already, but he'd seen that Chris wasn't there yet and didn't seem in any hurry to change that. 

"That's better," Buck said, easing them both back down. Chris thought they could fall asleep as easily as they could fall into other things, but Buck was in a mood to talk. "You think I don't like you fucking me, Chris?" he asked idly. 

"No," Chris answered, "I just don't think it's the first thing you think about." This was a conversation they'd had before, in one way or another, and there wasn't any heat in it. 

"Like you?"

"Maybe," he admitted. He did, often enough, and had come to terms with it years ago. He liked bending over for Buck, he wanted to let Buck bend him over. 

"You're wrong, mostly," Buck said softly. "You're right that I don't think about it as much, maybe, but you're wrong if you think I don't love it. Want it. Always. Any time." 

They had edged into girly territory at least half an hour ago, Chris thought with a grin, and didn't care. There were, after all, no witnesses. Buck tipped him over onto his back and went to work on his body, touching with gentle fingertips, stirring pieces of him that he forgot were erogenous until his partner reminded him, again and again. When he was hard enough to split diamonds, Buck reached for the lube and slicked his dick with it, then straddled his thighs. 

"Buck…" 

"Be quiet," Buck whispered, knee-walking up over his hips, over his dick. Buck twisted back, his long body a hard arch, searching behind himself for Chris's cock, lining himself up… settling down. 

Chris groaned long and loud, colors bleaching from his vision, his thighs and belly tensing with the desire to thrust. Buck was tight, so damned tight without a little preparation beforehand, his face tense. But Chris didn't mistake that look for discomfort; that look was the kind of pleasure that went beneath the skin and beyond the edges of yourself, the kind of pleasure you got from giving pleasure. 

Buck's ass settled into the cradle of his pelvis, his hips canted forward and his cock pointing straight up Chris's body. Chris slid his hands up Buck's thighs, feeling the muscles bunch as Buck slid up his dick again, and back down. 

"Jesus…" Chris hissed, the feeling in his belly tight and warm, flowing out through him. 

"How could I not love this?" Buck breathed. He lifted up again, and let himself fall forward enough to prop his hands on Chris's shoulders. "Feeling you, deep as you can get, stretching me wide open," he curled forward to press a kiss to Chris's mouth, "seeing that look on your face?" Then Buck pushed himself back upright. "Look at me," he said.

Chris knew what Buck was asking, probably the opposite of what any other person in the world would mean, and slid his gaze down Buck's body, reached to press Buck's tight balls up higher so he could see into the shadow where they joined. Buck lifted up again, and Chris watched his dick appear, inch by slow inch, slick and shining, reached a finger to trace the edge of Buck's asshole and his hand got caught between Buck's butt cheek and his own thigh when Buck slid back down him and twisted his hips. And just like that, as easy as that, Buck started to come. 

A twitch at first, and his balls firmed and tightened in Chris's hand, then a spatter of come arced up over his wrist and onto his belly. A groan that sounded like splitting timber, and Buck's thighs started to tremble. Chris grabbed his dick then, startled that he'd come without Chris even touching it, and squeezed as shot after shot of glistening white spurted out of the tip, as Buck started to shudder and lose his balance. He fell forward and Chris caught him, holding him half-upright as all of a sudden, like a surprise, his hips jerked up and then he was coming too, Buck's passage slicker now with his own semen. 

His hands slipped on Buck's sweaty chest then and he dropped him, right onto himself. The "oof" got lost in the groans. 

Buck didn't move for long minutes and neither did Chris, even though it was a little hard to breathe with almost two hundred pounds of man on him. Chris liked it though, liked the panting deadweight on him, liked how Buck's breaths made his ear and his neck itch like crazy, and he was sorry when Buck noticed he'd started to soften and pulled up off him before that trick got trickier. 

"So you do like it," he mumbled, and squeezed his partner's chest. 

Buck chuckled, low and tired and sated. "Maybe," he parroted Chris as they finally tumbled to their sides. 

"Funny guy," he whispered, and pushed Buck's sweaty hair back. 

"Think we should get up?" Buck asked a few minutes later. 

"No," Chris said. 

A couple of hours must have passed before his stomach rumbled and he sniffed the air, realized he smelled something good cooking. "Vin's gonna feed us," he said, shaking Buck out of his light doze. 

"Good," Buck said, and rolled over him to get off the bed, "I'm starving." 

They went to the bathroom where Chris took a leak and Buck wet a washcloth, but they traded places before Buck got a chance to use it, and Chris took it from his hand, wiped it down the crease of Buck's ass while Buck was still pissing. His asshole was a little loose, the muscle soft enough that it was easy to drop the cloth and press a curious finger in. 

"That's… that's almost kinky," Buck said, a grin in his voice. 

"Yeah, it almost is," Chris teased, because it really wasn't. After Buck finished and stepped back, he retrieved the washcloth and folded it over to wipe down their bellies. "Come on, let's get decent." 

"You really want me to change that much after all these years?" Buck asked him. "How about I just put on some clothes?" 

Chris laughed in spite of himself, which must mean he was pretty goddamned happy because it was an old line, well-used. "Idiot," he said, filled with affection. 

"Your idiot," Buck said, and kissed him quick. 

"Mine," he agreed contentedly. He obviously didn't mind acting like a teenaged girl as long as there was nobody around to see. 

"We should shop for new office space," Buck said as they strolled into the kitchen. 

"What's wrong with your old one?" Vin asked them. He was standing at the stove, stirring something gloppy in a frying pan. 

"Too small," Buck said. 

"Too far away," Chris said. 

"I thought you guys needed to be close to downtown?" Vin asked. 

"We do," Chris admitted, "but a mile in the right direction makes all the difference to the commute."

"And the price probably," Buck said. "No strip malls," he said with a dark look to Chris. 

"As if." Chris stepped up close enough to Vin to look over his shoulder. "What the hell is that?" he asked, staring at the pan. 

"Rice, garlic, onions, broccoli, cauliflower and the rest of that chicken we had in the fridge." 

"Tell me it's almost ready," Buck said, palming Chris's buttock—and from the way Vin flinched forward, palming his as well. He frowned at his partner but without much censure. 

"Get plates," Vin said in answer, "and give me back my ass."

"Why?" Buck asked as he stepped away, "you're not using it." 

Vin chuckled, and Chris rolled his eyes. Just what he needed, somebody to encourage that kind of talk from Buck. 

"Detectives from Atlanta came up a while ago," Vin said as he slid into the bench seat at the breakfast nook. 

"Yeah?" Buck asked him, surprised. "You should have fetched us."

"They weren't looking for you," Vin said, and shoveled a bite of food into his mouth. 

"What were they up here for?" Chris asked, and took a bite himself. It looked like crap but it tasted damned good. 

"They brought a crime scene team, and they wanted the bullets out of my truck. Got 'em, too," he said, not sounding happy about it. 

"That's good, Vin," Buck said heartily, "isn't it?" 

It was anybody's guess at this point whether Blackfox had been working for James or for Fowler, Chris thought, but it wasn't worth mentioning. 

"Yeah," Vin muttered, "it's good. They're hoping to match 'em up with some of the shots fired in the bar in Macon. That'd be real good. But damn it, they cut bigger holes in my fender to get 'em out!" 

Chris chuckled, and held up a hand when Vin glared at him. He knew what that truck meant to Vin. "We'll patch it up," he promised, "better than new." 

"Better than it was when you drove it down here at least," Buck muttered. 

"Wise ass," Vin said. 

After dinner Buck hustled Vin outside to the basketball hoop in the driveway, turning on every floodlight to be able to see well enough to do it, and Chris watched them through a window. They looked good together, easy, and only the loose feeling in his gut from all the sex he and Buck had been having lately kept the jealousy from rising to an unmanageable level. He didn't have to worry about Buck, not today. As for tomorrow—well, right now he didn't give a damn. 

The phone rang, pulling him away from the window. "Larabee," he answered it. 

"Chris? It's Nathan." 

"Hey, Nathan! How's Raine?" 

"She's just great. The baby… damn, Chris, she's so beautiful."

Chris reserved judgment, remembering how he'd said the same thing of Adam, how every parent said the same thing. Buck had told him months later that at birth Adam was a pointy-headed freak and one of the ugliest babies he'd ever seen for the first couple of months. He was probably right—hairless and chubby and red-faced, Adam had been a troublesome baby til the colic had passed. But he'd been beautiful to Chris. "Good to hear it. Where are you?"

"We just passed the state line. We're coming home." 

"Good timing," Chris told him, "we've got a barbecue on for Sunday. You can bring Raine and the baby, show 'em off." 

He listened while Nathan asked his wife, as whipped as any husband and as happy for it. "Yeah, all right," Nathan told him. "We'll be up around one." 

"Looking forward to it," Chris said, and rang off. 

Thinking of the baby inevitably made him think of Adam, which led his thoughts easily to Sarah too. It was strange, feeling the hole where his anger had been, like missing pieces in a jigsaw puzzle. All it took was walking to the mantel and looking at their picture to feel the grief, and he knew by now that he'd always feel it on some level. But he'd finally found their killer, and he was going to work hard to assure that Fowler's was a death penalty case. And maybe the anger had rushed out of him in that bar in Macon. 

When Buck and Vin came in later he was still in the living room, still thinking, and Buck picked up on it. "Chris?"

Chris tilted his head back to look at Buck, somehow loving him more today than he had before Macon. He hadn't really thought that was possible. "Why don't you and Vin go to the store, pick up some good steaks for the grill tomorrow?"

He knew Buck hated going to the store, knew Buck understood something was unsettling him, or more rightly, settling in a whole new way. "Yeah, all right." But before he left the room he still paused to ask, "You okay?"

Chris held out his hand, and Buck moved fast to grab it up. His thumb stroked over Chris's palm, as gentle as Buck had ever been with him, more gentle even than Buck had been today. "I'm good," he said, hearing his own voice so quiet and small. But he was, and when Buck cast a furtive glance toward the mantel he squeezed Buck's hand tight. "I'm all right, Buck, really," he said. He wasn't much for verbal assurances, or hadn't been, but this one was easy to give, and true. 

Buck nodded and slipped quietly out of the room, then ruined it by hollering, "Vin!" at the top of his lungs. "We're going to the store!"

Chris huffed out a laugh and shook his head. He could never truly miss children as long as he had Buck in his life. 

The door slammed a minute later and he heard Buck's car start up, listened intently as the sound of the engine faded down the drive. This house had never truly been empty. It had felt empty after Sarah and Adam were gone, but it hadn't been, because Buck had been here, filling more and more of the empty spaces as the years went by. And now? Chris rubbed at his chest, wondered at the ache there. Now, there weren't any empty spaces left. He would always love Sarah, always miss his son, but Buck had supplanted those places too, so fully and so well that sometimes he felt guilty for being this happy. 

Not often. If he'd been the one to die, he wouldn't have wanted her to stay lonely either. He knew she'd understand, and more—she'd approve of what he and Buck had built between them. 

He didn't kid himself that his recovery would be this easy or this quick, and he thought maybe it would hit him hard in the days or weeks to come. Maybe at Fowler's trial, because Chris planned to haunt the courthouse for it. Maybe at unexpected times. But by the time Buck and Vin got back, entering the house quietly, the strange disquiet in him had settled completely. 

He looked up in time to catch Buck trying to waltz Vin up the hall, even though they both had grocery bags in each hand. After they'd unpacked the groceries they joined him in the living room, Buck cautiously at first but he relaxed quickly. "We got filet mignon," Buck said, and dropped onto the couch too close to Vin. "Gonna teach Ezra what a sucky offering his flank steak was." 

"Spoil him, more like," Chris said. 

"Long as he don't go sour and start stinking up the place." 

"He always this dumb?" Vin groused, but Chris noticed Buck's hand on Vin's thigh and that even though Vin sat a little stiffly, he had done nothing to remove it. 

"He tries to be, but he can't sustain that level of effort over the long haul." 

Buck looked hurt, and grabbed the remote off the coffee table. "We need to get a TiVo," he said, flipping through the channels. Chris marked it down in his mind as a Christmas present if Buck held off for that long. He'd been talking about one on and off ever since he'd seen Ezra's. 

"I tell you Nathan and Raine are coming home?" he ask them both, more for something to say than any caring at this point. "They'll be up on Sunday." 

"Are we gonna get to see the new baby?" Buck asked, perking up. His hand left Vin's leg then, and when Vin didn't relax, Chris grinned. Looked like it wasn't nerves that had made Vin tense in the first place. 

"Yeah," Chris nodded his head. "He says she's beautiful."

Buck laughed. "All parents think that. You remember you thought that about Adam when he was born?" Buck chortled and turned to tell Vin the tale. "Adam was the ugliest baby I ever saw, Vin, and there are pictures around here somewhere to prove it. But Chris wouldn't hear a word of it. Thought he was a little angel." Buck's voice softened in memory. "After a few months he got out of that red wriggly phase, and he was." 

Chris had been thinking the very same thing not too long ago, but he and Buck did that a lot; shared history, shared life—it happened. He even offered his two cents to the conversation, grudgingly admitting that maybe Buck had been right if only to keep him from pulling out the pictures and removing all doubt. 

Buck had turned down the volume on the television while he told his stories, but Vin grabbed the remote and turned it off completely. "Listen," he started, "is there any chance the two of you are interested in delivering what Buck's been hinting at the past few days?"

Buck, Chris noted, looked delighted at the prospect. "Vin!" he said, sounding outraged but grinning widely. 

Vin ignored him, and Chris realized the question was mostly for him. Buck's willingness after all hadn't really been in doubt. "What's gotten into you?" Chris asked. 

Vin shrugged. "I just got out from under a murder charge. We got Cletus Fowler, and I'm feeling like celebrating," he admitted. "Listening to you two go at it hasn't helped matters much," he said with a grin. 

"I'd say it's helped 'em a lot, if you're offering," Buck joked, but when he looked to Chris his eyes were serious, questioning. Buck was willing to say yes and just as willing to say no, to follow Chris's lead. 

And maybe that was what Chris needed, to decide to accept the offer. He was happy. He and Buck had already had their little honeymoon, and would keep on having it. Buck wanted it but he wasn't going to dive in unless he was sure Chris was right beside him. Vin obviously wanted another go. 

"Yeah, okay," he said after a minute, and settled back in his chair. Buck and Vin both sat on the edge of the couch, expectant. "What, you meant right now?" he said, and grinned. 

Buck glowered at him, but it was all fake. "You…" he got up and prowled across the room, leaning over Chris to prop his hands on each arm of the chair. "You think you're hot shit, don't you?" he said, and pressed forward, caught Chris's mouth up in a wet kiss. 

"Yeah," Chris said when Buck drew away, "I do." He glanced over to Vin, who had turned sideways to watch with bright eyes. "All right then," he said, then looked up at Buck. "You gonna let me get out of this chair?" 

"If you ask me nice, I will."

Chris didn't ask him nice. Chris didn't say anything at all. He just reached out and palmed Buck's crotch, squeezed his balls and ran his thumb across the stiffening bar of flesh. He laughed when Buck backed away like he was on fire and practically dragged him up. 

"Vin," Buck said, "I think you and me have got a challenge on our hands." 

Vin stood up, tall and handsome and vibrating with sexual tension. "I think we can take him," Vin said, and grinned. He tugged his Henley off over his head and walked off toward his borrowed room at the front of the house, and Chris practically stepped on Buck's heels as they followed. 

Saturday, June 9

Chris woke up disoriented. It was clearly daylight but the room was unreasonably dim, and—oh. North facing. Wrong room. He scratched at his groin and grimaced, dried come matting his pubic hairs. Beside him, Buck still snuffled into the pillow. "Buck," he said, and cleared his scratchy throat. Buck didn't move, didn't shift. Screw it; he needed coffee more than he needed a post-mortem on the party. His jeans were in a pile just inside the door and he shook them out, stepped into them and buttoned up on his way down the hall. The coffee pot was full and that was all that mattered right now. He poured a cup and splashed tap water into it to cool it down enough to gulp, then repeated the process with another. Noise outside drew his eyes; Vin was out back, balanced on the corner of the deck rail. He ought to warn the guy they needed to replace the rail before it came down under him and landed him on his ass in the grass. 

He pushed open the screen, and smiled automatically in response to the grin Vin gave him. "Mornin'," Vin said, low. But he didn't move, didn't leer. Vin had a way about him, like he just understood the people around him, knew when to push and when not to. It was… reassuring, Chris decided. He wouldn't have known what to do if Vin started acting like he was family. 

"Mornin'. You want to go for a run with us?"

"You two do that every day?" Vin asked.

"Pretty much, yeah."

Vin thought about it for a second, then nodded. "Sure. If y'all don't mind. Buck up?" 

"Hell no. I've gotta roust him."

Vin dropped off the rail and followed Chris through the house and into the front bedroom where Chris started the process of waking his partner with gentle shakes and gentler kisses. "Buck," he whispered. "Up and at 'em." 

Vin had found something good to run in by the time Buck's eyes started blinking, unfocused. He stripped off his jeans and shirt, unselfconscious, and Chris watched out of the corner of his eye, admiring the view. It sparked a heat in his belly, amusing him; he'd have to tell Buck, who would get a kick out of it. 

"Buck," he said, louder now. "Come on, Big Dog, rise and shine."

"Mmmn," Buck said. "You taste like coffee."

"Fresh pot in the kitchen," Chris promised, and he saw the moment Buck remembered where he was, what they'd done last night. The smile on Buck's face looked ridiculously self-satisfied, and Chris shook his head. "Vin's coming with us," he whispered, throwing Vin a grin. "You can watch his ass if you want."

Buck was out of bed like a shot, barely noticing that Vin actually stood in the room as he sprinted for the coffeepot. Vin chuckled. "He acts like a big kid sometimes," he said. 

"He is a big kid sometimes," Chris said, sharing a look with him. He pushed himself back to standing and headed for their bedroom. 

Buck trotted in a second later, coffee cup in one hand and a slice of white bread in the other. "Get dressed, we're burnin' daylight," Buck said. 

Chris raised his eyebrows. "You gonna go out like that?" he asked, and grinned. 

Buck looked down at himself like he was actually taking the question seriously, so Chris threw a tank top at his head. "Get dressed." 

The three of them hit the drive a minute later, and it took Vin a few minutes to find a pace that matched theirs. He and Buck were like dray horses after all these years, and they ran practically in step. They went a couple of miles out, then turned and slowed down a little on the way back, talking about nothing and everything. Buck had warmed to the idea of a new office, and was sharing details of buildings he liked, his plans to search the internet for information today. 

"They show office space on the weekends?" Buck asked. 

Chris shrugged, breathing steadily. "How should I know?" 

"Thought you knew everything," Buck grinned. 

"They do," Vin said, then shrugged, the movement jostling his gait for a second. "City this big, they'd show it to you Sunday midnight if they thought it would make 'em a commission, wouldn't they?" he asked reasonably.

Chris groaned; they probably would, which meant Buck was going to want to look at places today. 

They got back to the house and Chris started in on breakfast. Vin stepped in to help while Buck hit the shower. 

When Vin cleared his throat, Chris stiffened, unaccountably nervous all of a sudden. "Thanks for last night," Vin said. 

"Nothing to thank us for. We all got something out of it." 

"Still," Vin said, and Chris snuck a look at his profile, caught the reddening along the column of his throat, "you two seem like you're settling in for a second honeymoon here. I didn't want to get in the way of that." 

Chris rolled his eyes. "Little late to worry about it, don't you think?" The blush climbed a little higher, so Chris took pity on him. "It was good, Vin. Fun."

"Yeah," Vin said, his voice a little wistful. "It sure was." 

"Look," Chris said, uncomfortable, "there's no need to talk it to death."

Vin chuckled at that, and shook his head. "I don't think I expected y'all to say yes last night. Was thinking about going out to celebrate, finding one of them bars I got from Ezra. But…" he paused, and Chris could almost hear him working out in his head how to say what he wanted. "I already knew there was a good thing right in this here house, and I guess I didn't want to get fucked by a stranger so much. Not if I could get fucked by friends instead."

Chris pondered the words, and finally nodded. "Ask any time. Just don't expect us to say yes every time," he said, a word of warning as much as it was tacit invitation. This was deep water, quicksand, and he felt like he needed to watch his step. And talk to Buck before he made too many invitations or rejected the whole idea out of hand. He wasn't in this alone. He met the gaze Vin turned on him though, met it squarely. 

After a second, Vin nodded, something private decided in his own head. "Fair enough." 

Buck came out a few minutes later, just in time for breakfast. "Good timing, mouth," Chris teased, accepting the wet kiss Buck was determined to press on him. "Get the biscuits out of the oven." 

Buck did as he was told and slid the whole pan onto a hot pad at the table. "Looks good," Buck said heartily, digging in. 

Buck snuck glances at both Chris and Vin, wondering what they'd been doing this morning to bring about this quiet now, but he wasn't worried. He trusted Chris, in this as much as in every other part of his life, and of the two of them Chris was probably more trustworthy than he was anyway. 

"What're you grinning about?" Chris asked him, looking suspicious. 

"What?" Buck asked. 

"You look like a Cheshire cat," Chris accused. 

Buck shrugged. "We should look for new office space today," he announced, distracting Chris from an interrogation he felt coming on. 

"Don't you think the guys are gonna have something to say about it?" Chris asked, like Buck wouldn't know he was just stalling. 

"Oh yeah, they're gonna have something to say, and I for one don't want to hear it. If we don't go farther out of town than North Decatur, maybe North Atlanta, they can't squeal too much. And there's some nice buildings out there." 

"You're underestimating Ezra's ability to complain."

Buck chuckled. "He won't though, not about this. He moved to Rehoboth a couple of months ago. Won a condo off a guy in a card game or something. The mortgage too," he added with a chuckle. 

Chris looked surprised. 

"He was bragging about it," Buck reminded him. "You don't remember?"

Chris nodded thoughtfully. "I remember, but I thought he said he was gonna sell it."

"Guess he changed his mind," Buck said. He'd been by for about five minutes just before they'd taken off on their last job before Vin. "It's a real nice place." He grinned. "Way too good for him." 

Chris chuckled at that, and finished his breakfast just as Buck was helping himself to seconds. "I'm gonna get a shower and get ready," he said, seemingly accepting the sentence of spending part of their Saturday office hunting. "You scare up a real estate agent for us."

"I know one who deals with office space and stuff," Buck said, "I'll give her a call."

Vin stayed at the table after Chris left, and Buck looked him over. Vin was relaxed, well-rested and well-fucked if Buck was any judge. And he was. Last night had been pretty spectacular. He'd ended up fucking Vin and Chris hadn't been able to wait his turn, just jerked off watching them. Buck sighed at the memory of Vin's tight ass and flushed body, the look on Chris's face, Chris's fingers in parts of Buck that they definitely belonged and making the fuck all the more pleasurable. 

Vin flushed a little and Buck realized he was staring. Leering, probably. He checked his face and dialed it down to a grin. "Sorry about that," he said. "So, you want to go look for office space with us?"

"Hell no!" Vin said, like it was about the worst thing he could imagine. 

"Well what are you gonna do with yourself all day then?"

"Enjoy some peace and quiet," Vin said, almost like he was hungry for it, and Buck thought again of that cabin in Wyoming, far away from everyone. "Work on my truck some more. I'm still pissed that they shot it up," he grumbled. 

"Yeah. I'd say sorry about that, but better your truck than you or Chris."

Vin grinned. "Guess so. It's easier to patch up, anyway." 

"You got that right, Vin. Help yourself to the tools in the barn if you aren't already." 

He cleaned up his plate then headed for the office and his address book, and learned that most commercial real estate agents didn't work on Saturday after all. But Julie was willing to make an exception. She directed him to her web site and he poked around fast, printed some flyers for stuff he thought would do, and decided he'd better get some laundry started. He was wearing yesterday's jeans because it was that or pull out a pair of suit pants, and he just wasn't that desperate yet. 

Chris was still in the bathroom, toweling his hair dry. "I'm gonna start laundry," Buck announced.

"Thank God," he thought he heard, but it was muffled by the towel so he couldn't be sure. 

He proceeded to collect the overflowing hamper in the bathroom, then the stuff they'd stepped out of over the last few days and left where it fell, and after a thought he went up to Vin's room to grab everything they'd pulled off in there last night. After sorting and checking the pockets, Buck decided they had too damned many clothes because he could be at this all day. On the other hand, if they didn't have all these clothes they'd have been chasing down Cletus Fowler butt-naked, so… he sighed and stuffed the washer full of blue jeans. 

"Hey, Vin," he asked when he came out of the laundry room. Vin was still at the breakfast nook, shredding the last biscuit. 

"Yeah?"

"You mind putting the jeans in the dryer when the buzzer goes off and maybe throwing in the next load?"

"Nah. Need to do some wash myself."

"Well get in line, because we could open a Chinese laundry just with our stuff," Buck said with a scowl. "Thanks." He fetched his keys and trotted to the front door like he'd been standing there all day. "Chris!" he called. "What the hell is taking you so long?" 

Chris came out of the bedroom, his hair damp and curling at the ends, and glared at him balefully. "Don't think for a second I'm gonna let you enjoy this," he threatened darkly. 

But Buck did enjoy it. Chris was in good spirits and a little off-balance, like he didn't know how to be this happy, and Buck spent a lot of time holding his hand, poking into closets and offices while Julie talked about the various features and hidden costs. He was pretty sure they'd found the place when they walked into a space with a big, open floor plan, a half-walled reception area, and a little glass meeting room off to one side. It was at least twice the size of their current place, and better than that, it had two private, glass-walled offices toward the back. "We can each have our own office," Buck said dreamily. "No more stuffing ourselves into a corner together."

Chris nodded, looking interested in spite of himself. "I like the patio," he volunteered, nodding to a slider door at one end. "JD can wire it for electricity, run computer cable. It'll keep him from trying to sneak cigarettes inside when we're not there." 

Julie ran down the lease costs and overhead, and it wasn't that much more than they paid now because it was out of the high-demand downtown area. 

"So, this is it?" Buck asked. 

Chris nodded, speculative. "Could be." 

"Come on back to my office with me," Julie offered. "I'll print up some information, pictures and such, so you can think about it." 

Buck loved this woman. All business and no pressure. "Sounds great," he said for them both. 

When they got back to the house, Vin's truck wasn't in the drive but Buck could hear the power sander running in the barn. "Want to go help him out? He's probably pulled off his shirt by now," Buck teased.

Chris frowned at him. "Laundry," he said, a hint of reprimand in his voice. 

Buck wilted a little at the idea, but followed Chris anyway. The damned clothes wouldn't wash themselves. 

But apparently they would; several neatly folded stacks were piled high on the kitchen table, a load was still hot in the dryer and the washer was in the spin cycle. "Damn," Buck said, way too overjoyed for such a little thing, "he does the laundry too. Chris, we have got to keep that boy around."

"It's not finished yet," Chris said repressively, and joined him in the mudroom. 

"Yeah, but maybe if we leave and come back in a couple of hours, it will be!" Buck tried, more than willing to go kill time at the feed store or someplace. 

"Get your ass over here and pull the stuff out of the dryer," was Chris's reply. 

Buck emptied the dryer and Chris moved the just-finished load in from the washer, then started another. Buck had to admit that folding clothes wasn't a big deal when Chris folded alongside him, laughing and joking. 

"So we'll show the guys the pictures of the new office tomorrow," Chris said, planning and plotting already. "Think we should tell them it's a done deal?"

"You're spending too much time around Ezra, you know," Buck said. "Nah, let 'em vote. If they like it, we're golden. If they don't, we can veto 'em anyway." 

Chris chuckled. "And they think I'm the heartless bastard. You called your mom yet?" 

Buck almost asked "about what?" but he realized, and stopped himself just in time. "I haven't had a chance," he said instead, wondering how the hell he'd forgotten. This was big, and great news, and the change in Chris was obvious and beautiful. Buck didn't kid himself it was permanent, or that there wouldn't be dark days, but right now, Chris fairly radiated calm satisfaction, and in bed yesterday he'd been so there. He usually was, but something had felt different, sweeter. Softer—not a word he typically thought to use with Chris Larabee, but he could and did this time. 

And the sex with Vin had felt like a celebration. Sexy and hot and so damned good. 

"What?" Chris asked.

"What, what?" 

"You're mooning," Chris said with a smile. "Thinking about your mom? Or… Vin?" he asked, ever perceptive. 

"Little of both," Buck admitted. Then, before he could call his mom and let her talk him out of it, he said, "I'd like to keep him around," casually enough, but the look on Chris's face said Chris knew he was faking it. 

"Keep him around. Not just for work."

"No," Buck said, low and careful, "not just for work." 

Chris turned back to the pile of folded clothes, but there wasn't much left for him to do so Buck took his hand, holding it, anchoring them both. "That could cause problems," Chris said. 

"It doesn't have to." 

Chris just glared at him. "No, it doesn't have to. Except for the part where you're the second-most jealous bastard I've ever seen… and I'm the most jealous bastard I've ever seen."

Buck thought about it and knew Chris was giving him the time to do it, suspected Chris was wondering if he'd change his tune when he really put his mind to the idea. "I think," Buck said eventually, "I think you'd be right if it was anybody but Vin. He's not going to try and make trouble between you and me." Buck looked at him, raised his eyebrows. "Is he?" 

Chris must have thought about it too, but Buck wasn't surprised when he held off on answering for a second to keep it from being obvious. "I don't think so," he finally said. "But that don't mean trouble wouldn't come from it." 

"You and I have faced all kinds of trouble together. You think we can't face this together?"

"This," Chris huffed. He looked at Buck, assessing him, measuring every shadow and worry in those night-blue eyes. He knew what Buck was asking for, what maybe they were both considering. The problem was that if they didn't go for it then they couldn't let Vin stay, couldn't let him work for them. Because he knew Buck Wilmington, and even after four years of fidelity now that he'd gotten a taste of Vin, he was going to slip up. Sometime, maybe if they were on the road together or maybe if they were up here just watching a game on TV and had one too many beers, Buck would make a play and Vin… Chris wasn't sure, but he thought Vin wouldn't turn it down. Wouldn't turn it down, but then he'd feel like shit about it and leave anyway. Or worse, make a play for Buck that would cause Chris to have to shoot them both… or kick Buck the hell out of his life because he wasn't the kind of man who stood idly by and let his lovers get away with shit like that. 

Buck had been a part of his life for so long, he couldn't even imagine the rest of it without Buck in it. But he wasn't that generous. "You remember when you gave me that ring?" he asked Buck. 

Buck looked confused, and nodded. "Of course." 

"You remember how funny you thought that was?"

Buck grinned a little in memory. "Yeah." 

"I didn't." He stared hard at Buck, willing him to put it together. "I didn't think it was funny at all. Sometimes," he started, feeling his face heat a little, "when I open the dresser drawer and see that ring and watch lying there, sometimes I want to take them to a jeweler's and have them welded together." 

Buck's face went soft and sweet, as touched by the idea as Chris had been almost compelled to it. "Chris," he said, soft and low and full of love, because of course Buck understood how ruining two stupidly expensive pieces of jewelry was a sign of Chris's affection. 

"Yeah," Chris said dryly. "I think," he started, "that if we all tried this and it fucked you and me up then we'd be just like every other couple who was so comfortable they thought they could do anything they wanted. And were wrong. This is the kind of thing that ruins marriages." 

Buck thought about it, thought hard if the look on his face was anything to go by. He looked a little nervous when he met Chris's eyes again. "I'm gonna ask you something, and you need to promise me you're not gonna get mad."

Chris rolled his eyes. "Sure," he said, not meaning it. 

"Do we really have a choice about this?" Chris jerked and would have pulled away if Buck's hand hadn't tightened on his. Buck sidled forward then, sliding his arms around Chris's waist. "The truth, Chris. We're already involved. We already… like him," Buck said lamely, but Chris knew what Buck was probably thinking. What they'd both been thinking. What they seemed to be feeling was a whole lot more than "like", and still less than love. But neither of them was the kind of man who walked away from something he wanted, if he wanted it enough. 

He didn't like the answer though, and didn't want to give it. "Maybe," he said anyway. 

Buck bent his head to kiss him, lips closed and soft and lingering. "We'd miss him if he was gone, maybe always wonder…." 

Buck might wonder. Chris didn't have to, he was sure. "Yeah," he admitted, ignoring the nervous flutter in his belly. This was dangerous ground, so dangerous. 

"So we're not talking about whether to do it really, are we?" Buck asked him. 

"We sure as hell are! Wondering, I can live with. This house without you in it?" He didn't finish the sentence, didn't need to. They'd come through fire together, again and again, and every time it made them stronger, more solid, like tempered steel. Buck hugged him tightly, nose buried in Chris's hair right above his ear. 

"Not gonna happen," Buck promised him, in that voice and tone that Chris knew to believe. "It's not, Chris. Whatever we try or don't try with Vin, you're stuck with me pard."

"You'd better be right about that." 

"Yeah well, right back atcha. You try to run and I'll hunt you down faster and better than any skip we've ever tracked." It took a couple of seconds of Buck almost squeezing the breath out of him to realize he'd just agreed to at least seriously considering this thing with Vin, to making it more than a spectacular one-off—well, two-off—to feed their own bedtime fantasies in future years, and see where it led. 

"We really could use him in the company," he said, mouth jammed against Buck's shoulder. 

Buck sounded so sure of himself when he said, "That, pard, is a great idea." 

"And don't expect me not to be an asshole from time to time."

"You already are, so no worries there," Buck chuckled. 

"I mean it, Buck," he said, struggling hard enough that Buck loosened his grip. "Just because it could be good doesn't mean it'll be easy."

"Really good things aren't always easy," Buck assured him, more serious now and so sure of himself and of them that Chris's worries eased a little. "You sure as hell aren't, but look how great we turned out." 

"Yeah… all right, you've got me there." 

Buck smiled at him. "I've got you everywhere, always, Chris." 

Chris bit back a smart-ass reply. Buck was such a girl. 

Buck disappeared after that, and Chris watched him head through the kitchen and into the hall. He tried to ignore the knot of worry in his belly—this kind of thing was as dangerous as he'd told Buck it was—then picked up a stack of clean clothes and headed for the bedroom to put them away. 

Buck was standing in the bedroom, his back to the door. Chris backed up a step and piled his armful atop the clothes Vin had already washed and folded for them, and snuck up the hall into the living room. He dropped lengthwise on the couch, staring up at the ceiling and trying not to think about what might happen. 

Buck heard Chris's footsteps in the kitchen and held still, not wanting to be caught and pretty sure Chris wasn't going to crowd him if he didn't offer an open invitation. When he heard his partner head on toward the front of the house and the springs on the old sofa creaked, he nodded to himself, and tiptoed over to the dresser. 

The ring and watch were right there, a shiny little pile of gold on top of the ties neither of them ever wore. He didn't wear his watch much because he didn't like the idea of scratching it up, but maybe that was dumb, maybe it was just the opposite of what having something like that, and wearing it, meant. He thought maybe it was supposed to get scratched up, dinged and marked and well-worn, as much a part of himself as a good pair of boots, or Chris. 

He took it out and slid it, cool and heavy, onto his wrist, but then the ring looked forlorn in the drawer. He picked it up too, and backed up to sit on the edge of the bed, turning the ring left and right and watching the play of light off its faceted surfaces. It wouldn't fit him, his hands were bigger than Chris's, but he slid it onto his pinky anyway and stared at it, at the watch just a few inches above it. He knew what he wanted to do, but knew as well that he shouldn't take it lightly. And he needed Chris to know, to understand that this was just the next step after catching Cletus Fowler, the next step for the two of them. Whatever steps they took with Vin would be parallel, but not on exactly the same path; they couldn't be, because Vin hadn't walked the road with them to this point, this day. 

He sat there for a long while, staring at that ring and deciding just what he wanted to say. 

Chris realized he'd dozed off only when the footsteps in the hall brought him awake. Buck sauntered into the room, an impish smile on his face that made him look about fifteen, but the look in his eyes was a whole lot more serious. "Sit up," Buck ordered, so Chris, feeling unusually obedient, did. "A lot changed when we caught Cletus Fowler," Buck said. "Something important got finished that's been hanging out there for years. Made me think about other things that have been hanging out there, not quite followed through on." 

Buck dropped to one knee in front of him and Chris understood then, even before he caught the glint of gold on Buck's wrist, and the other one held between his fingers. 

Buck might act like a woman sometimes when it came to tender words and touchy-feely things, but he hadn't just run off and snatched up that ring. He'd slipped away, spent some time with himself, decided and then worked up his courage to just lay it all out on the line. Buck was more of a man than Chris was, sometimes. 

Buck reached out and caught Chris's hand, tugging it forward, and the heavy gold watch on his wrist caught the light. Chris felt a little silly and a lot moved when Buck ceremoniously took the wedding ring and slipped it onto his left ring finger. It felt cool and heavy, foreign and familiar there. And so damned strange, sitting here while a man slid a ring onto his finger, being the one receiving it instead of giving it. It reminded him of when he'd done something similar for Sarah—a lot more class, he reflected with a small smile, but he knew the sentiment was just exactly the same. 

"I know it was kind of a joke when I bought it," Buck said, head tilted down to stare at Chris's hand. Buck traced the ring, the pads of his fingers warm and calloused around its edges where they touched Chris's skin. "But you know it kind of wasn't, too, right?" Buck looked up at him, head still tilted down. Not coy. Maybe a little nervous, a little worried he was about to get laughed or teased out of the room. 

"I know it wasn't," Chris agreed. 

Buck nodded his head. "Good. So if it won't make you squirm all the time, I'd like you to wear this for me, Chris. I really would." 

Chris stared at it, and at the top of Buck's head, for a long moment. "I'm gonna ask you something, straight up," he said then. 

"Okay."

"Did you do this because we had that talk about Vin?"

Buck's head came up, his face earnest. "No, Chris. Not like you're thinking anyway." Chris hadn't been thinking anything exactly, so he just looked at Buck and waited. "This is us, Chris, you and me, and I reckon I should have worked up the courage to do it a long time ago. Whatever we do about Vin, it's gonna be beside us, not between us. It's not gonna come between you and me because it can't, okay? Nothing can. I won't let it and neither will you." 

Chris looked down at the ring, warmed now by the heat of his skin. "It will make me squirm to wear it," he said, staring at his hand where bright gold caught and reflected the light, "but I reckon I'll get used to it."

Buck frowned at him. "Anybody ever tell you you have a special talent for ruining romantic moments?"

Chris reached with his right hand and slid his fingers through Buck's hair, drawing him in close enough to kiss. He slid his tongue out, teasing his partner's mouth open and letting the kiss stretch out between them, tender and warm, less about starting Buck's engine than sealing this pact between them. "Only you. I'll wear it," he said soberly. Then he smiled. "But you have to promise me you'll take care of Ezra. He starts teasing about it and I won't be held responsible for my actions." 

"I'll warn him off." 

"If I'm gonna wear this thing, you just take it as fair warning that you might be getting one too," Chris told him, and watched Buck's eyes light up. 

"I wasn't going to ask." 

"You won't have to ask. I love you." Chris had meant the words to be a reassurance, but they were more than that, he knew it from the way Buck's face softened and the way his own chest felt full. Chris kissed him again, then took him off to bed to do a whole lot more than that. The ring was a touch loose, sliding down enough that he could feel its weight against his knuckle. It would be strange, wearing a wedding band again… less strange than a wedding would have been, but still. He'd have to try and remember not to look too smug around folks. 

And maybe Buck hadn't put that ring on his finger because of Vin, but the weight of it there settled the worry in his gut. Whatever happened with Vin, however he hoped or Buck hoped things might work out, they'd do it together. 

They had made it back out to the couch, curled up around each other when Vin came back into the house. "Chris? Buck?" he called out. 

"In here," Chris answered. 

Vin got as far as the threshold of the room and then stumbled to a halt. "Uh…" 

"Come on in, Vin," Buck said, "we were just making vacation plans."

Chris raised his eyebrows, mouthed, We were? Buck poked his finger into Chris's belly and sat up. 

"Don't let me get in the way then," Vin said, trying to back out of the room. 

"No," Chris said, because it was all right that Vin be here, fine even. "Come on in. You can give Buck somebody else to jaw at." 

Vin didn't look too sure of the invitation, but he crept across the room and dropped into the recliner. "Where're you thinking about going?"

"Everywhere," Chris said, "if he has his way."

"Seriously?" Buck asked, ignoring Chris completely, "I want to go to a beach somewhere. The Bahamas, maybe. You like beaches, Vin?" he asked, wrapping Chris's arm around his belly and leaning against him. 

"Don't know," Vin said, "I never spent much time at one." 

"Oh, you don't know what you're missing. Chris and me, we met each other in San Diego, and we used to go out to the strand, watch all the pretty girls go by…" 

"He wants to relive his childhood," Chris said dryly. 

"What's wrong with that?" Buck asked, and set off on a story of young men with perpetually hard dicks and the riches of California beaches. Comfortable and too warm with Buck pressed against him, Chris kept half an eye on Vin, and saw the moment when he relaxed. Chris relaxed not long after, and they whiled the rest of the evening just talking, sharing beers and laundry duty and just enough housekeeping to keep the place livable, but not enough to rouse Buck's little fetish. Chris interrupted here and there, and offered to treat them both to dinner. He could tell that Vin didn't mind, that the mood of the evening was comfortable for all of them, easy and relaxed. 

So he drove, kept the drinks coming, and they poured Vin into bed when they got home before the two of them went on to their own room. Buck wasn't drunk but he was definitely feeling no pain, and Chris manhandled him onto his side and then pressed his back up against him, huffing out a laugh when Buck nuzzled his soft dick against his ass. His wedding ring glinted in the light when he reached to turn out the lamp, and he took that image with him to sleep.

[Index] [Previous] [Next] 

The Magnificent Seven and it characters @ MGM, the Trilogy Entertainment Group, the Mirisch Corporation and TNN, and was developed by John Watson and others.


	13. Skip Trace - What Counts As A Win: Chapter 13

SKIP TRACE: WHAT COUNTS AS A WIN  
By Charlotte C. Hill and Maygra 

Universe: Skip Trace 

Acknowledgements: Many thanks to Megan for morale and editorial support, as well as a few scenes .

Pairing/Characters: C/B, Vin, Ezra, cameos by the Nathan, Josiah & JD

Rating: NC17 (We mean, seriously...look who's writing this thing!)

Story Notes: With thanks to Megan and Maygra for getting this novel series started, and special thanks to Megan and Fara, BMP and Mardi for encouraging me to see it through. Their editing and moral support has been invaluable.

Feedback: yes, please, any kind, on or off list to charlottechill@yahoo.com and maygra@gmail.com. 

Sunday, June 10  
Buck woke up feeling warm and happy and horny—pretty much like most days when he'd gotten enough sleep. Chris was still in bed, a pleasant surprise, still pressed back against him, and Buck wiggled his hips to rub his hard cock against Chris's ass without any real intentions. A soft chuckle escaped his partner and Chris nudged his ass back. 

"I wondered when the rest of you would catch up to him," he whispered. 

Buck snuffled his nose into Chris's hair. "He been up long?" 

"Few minutes, yeah," Chris said, sounding sleepy and content. "He ready for his morning run?"

Buck ran his hand down Chris's belly to his crotch, hoping that Chris had caught up to him, but no, his cock was soft, his groin damp with sweat that made the skin there slick and smooth. Buck teased Chris's groin hairs, wondering if he could delay their run for a little more entertaining exercise, but Chris laced his fingers through Buck's and lifted his arm to roll out from under it. "Come on," he said, not turning his head as he walked bare-assed to the bathroom. Buck frowned, considered complaining until he heard piss splash in the toilet bowl and decided he needed a leak too. 

So much for the second honeymoon—but then, Chris would probably have dragged him up for a run if they'd ever had a first one. He grinned at the thought and crawled out of bed, stretching to work the kinks out and then heading into the john himself. 

"You're in fine form for having gone to bed half-drunk last night," Chris commented, then loaded his toothbrush and stuck it in his mouth. 

"I feel great, actually," Buck said, because it was true. They were catching up on their sleep, maybe catching up to their whole lives with more than a week off regular work and now the Fowler bust behind them. "What time is it?"

"Not quite eight," Chris said, and Buck sidled up behind him, making one last half-hearted effort to get him back to bed. 

"Then we've got plenty of time for a little fun," he tried, and nuzzled Chris's ear.

Chris met his eyes in the mirror, grinning. "More fun later," he said, toothpaste garbling the words. "Give you something to look forward to."

Buck shook his head and went to drag on fresh shorts, inordinately pleased by having drawers full of clean laundry that he mostly hadn't had to wash. "Want me to go fetch Vin?" he called. 

"Yeah, why not?" Chris said, stepping around him to the dresser. "I'll be right out." 

Buck grabbed his shoes out of the closet and padded barefoot to the kitchen, looking around before poking his head out the back. Vin was there, leaning against the rail just staring out at the morning. "We're going for a run, you want to come?" Buck asked. 

Vin peered over his shoulder. "Wouldn't say no."

"Get moving then," Buck ordered him, "once Chris gets started he's damned hard to slow down." 

Vin tipped back his coffee cup and drained it, then rinsed it out at the sink while Buck pulled on his socks and shoes. "I'll meet you out front," he said, and headed up the hall. Buck leaned over in his chair a little to watch Vin's ass as he went. 

Out on the road, Buck finally decided to make a polite comment about Vin's athletic wear. "Could you be any uglier?" he groused. 

On one side of him, Vin frowned; on the other side, Chris laughed, full-throated and deep. "Huh?" Vin asked, clearly confused. 

"Those damned black sweatpants," Buck went on, "they don't show off anything." 

Vin was laughing now too, but Buck didn't mind. "You want me in a pair of skimpy red things like those?" Vin asked, nodding his head toward Buck's bare legs. 

As if Vin even had to ask. "I'm gonna send you to Big Five, Vin, and give you a clothing allowance. It'd be worth it," he went on, happy to be on a roll, "just to get you out of those damned things." 

"He ain't completely wrong, Vin," Chris said, and Buck flashed him a smile for the backup, which Chris ruined by being all reasonable. "Running in sweats in Georgia summers'll dehydrate you."

"You don't think Buck drooling like a dog'll dehydrate him?" Vin shot back. 

Buck put a hand over his heart, mimed taking a shot. "Ow," he said, sarcastic. "You really think we don't have your best interests at heart?" he teased. 

"I think you two have got enough on your minds that you've forgot I even have interests," Vin said, but it was good-natured enough. Still, Buck thought about it, and realized Vin was probably right. He'd gotten out from under the murder charge and was obviously happy about that, but that didn't mean Stuart James would just crawl off and leave him alone. Hell, for all Buck knew, James still thought Vin was the lynchpin in his prosecution. He turned his head toward Chris, even though it led the rest of his body and he veered dangerously close. 

"He's right, huh?" he asked, raising his eyebrows. 

Chris was clearly thinking about it too, but he didn't say anything until they got back to the house. "I'm going to call Orrin at home," he told Buck when they got to their bedroom to change. 

"For what?"

Chris looked at him. "Find out what he can do to get Stuart James to back off Vin." 

"You think that's a good idea?" Buck asked him, more than a little worried as he stripped off his sweaty shirt and hung it on a hook for tomorrow. They still didn't know if Orrin was dirty. Somebody was dirty, and he didn't want it to be Orrin Travis anymore than Chris did. "Seems like you're taking a chance there." 

Chris shrugged as he looked for his cell phone. "Clean or dirty, it's still in his interest to cooperate with us. And if he is dirty?" Chris smiled, not a pretty one. "Then he'll be able to get to James that much faster. Go fetch Vin, he deserves to be in on this," he said, and headed for the kitchen. 

Buck trotted up to the front of the house and stuck his head in the open door to Vin's bedroom. "Hey, slick," he called. "Come out to the kitchen." 

Vin walked out of the bathroom, shirtless but still wearing those damned sweats. Buck was gonna sneak in here and burn them when Vin wasn't looking. "What's up?"

"Just get your butt out here," Buck said, because he really wasn't sure about Chris's plan. 

Chris was dialing Orrin's number when Buck walked back in the room. He somehow made the thing go to speaker phone, and Buck promised himself he'd figure out what damned button Ezra had pushed to make his own phone do that. 

After a couple of rings, Travis picked up. "You obviously don't know what 'witness tampering' means," he said, with no hello.

"I do, and this has got nothing to do with your testimony," Chris said. "At least, nothing you've told them to date. Buck's here too, and Vin. You're on a speaker." Buck looked to Vin, who obviously had some guesses now and raised his eyebrows, interested. 

"Hey, Orrin," Buck said. 

"What do you two want?" He wasn't gruff exactly—well, no more than usual, Buck thought. 

"We need to get a message to Stuart James," Chris said. "Let him know that Eli Joe Whitney has turned on him and that Vin Tanner's no longer a threat." 

"How do you know he isn't?" Orrin asked them. 

"Because he's got nothing to give that will top what Whitney's going to spill."

"We need to meet," Travis said, and Chris raised his eyebrows at Buck.

"You think your phone's not secure?"

"No, I think you're both fools. Where are you?"

"We're out at our place," Buck said. "You mind coming up?"

"Yes I mind," Travis replied. "I'll be there in an hour." He hung up. 

Buck checked his fancy watch, feeling a certain softness in his chest when he looked at it and sneaking a peek at Chris's decorated left hand, then frowned. "He'll be cuttin' it close," he said. "The boys'll start showing up by noon or so." 

"Then we'll offer the deal and get him out fast. He won't want to be seen here."

"What about me?" Vin asked them. "You think I should make myself scarce?"

Buck shook his head just as Chris said, "No, he'll need to hear it from you. Whatever you can offer. What can you offer, Vin?" 

Buck grinned, but didn't say anything because he was too close to Chris and would likely get whapped on the arm for it. 

Vin looked thoughtful. "I've already turned over a lot of stuff to the US attorneys," he said, "but not everything."

"You hold back anything worth having?"

Vin shrugged. "Mostly it's stuff on Eli Joe, but there were some pictures of him with James and some other guys. Could be worth something, at least to trade. And…" he blew out a slow breath, "it's all I've got." 

"Then it'll have to be enough," Buck said, and Chris bit his tongue to keep from commenting on how stupid that reasoning was. 

"Whatever it is," Chris said, "he might be grateful to have it instead of the feds." 

Vin nodded decisively, then grinned. "You realize we've planned all this out and we don't even know if James will bite, right? Or if Travis will be the go-between for us." 

"He will," Chris said, and Buck thought he sounded a little hard on the old man. 

"Chris?" he asked, reaching a hand out to rub Chris's arm on the table. 

Chris looked at him, as sober as a judge. "He owes us and he knows it. Vin too, maybe. He doesn't like being in debt." 

Buck laughed at that. "You know, he's a lot more like you than I like to think on too hard."

Chris just grinned. 

Travis showed up just before eleven and they laid it all out for him. "James has no cause to believe me," Travis said, then growled, "I've been told I should be expected to testify, if his case comes to trial." 

"Well you don't have to tell him that," Chris said dryly. 

"I don't have to tell him anything at all," Travis retorted. 

"You owe us, Orrin," Chris didn't quite snarl, and Buck was proud of him for his restraint. "You know you do. You dragged all of us into this shit and you need to fix what you broke."

"Mr. Tanner dragged himself into this by putting his ass at the scene of a murder!" Travis almost yelled the words, and Buck sat up a little straighter in his chair, wary, like his body was preparing for an attack from the old man. Which was ridiculous, and if he didn't know that himself all he needed to do was look to Chris, who relaxed even further, loose and easy in the face of the confrontation. 

"You wanted to get the murderer of your friend," Chris said easily, "and you used us to do it. You got him, and he's in jail right now, singing to the US attorneys and ready to bring James and his whole petty kingdom down. And you wouldn't have been able to do that without me and Buck. Or Vin." 

Vin had kept his mouth shut for most of this, and Buck watched Travis look at him now, eyes narrowed and contemptuous. "You've found yourself some interesting allies, Mr. Tanner," he said coolly.

Vin just shrugged. "Made myself some interesting enemies too. But it don't have to be that way. I've got nothing against James, and not that much to offer the state in his prosecution. He needs to understand that, and I reckon you're the only man he'll believe." 

"I think you're wrong on that count," Travis said. "Stuart James knows exactly that I stand on the side of the law, and if he doesn't, he'll know when his attorneys get the witness list for his trial. Still…" he tapped his fingers on the table, and Buck kept quiet right alongside Chris and Vin, letting him work it out. "It's possible I owe you something," he said then, gruff. "But if I make this call, you can be assured that we're even." 

Chris nodded. "We'll take it, Orrin," he said. "You want to call him from here?"

"Hell no," Orrin huffed. "I'll get word to you when I know something."

Buck relaxed back into his chair, taking up Chris's easy pose and actually feeling it now. He had the sense that this was all going to work out the way it should, for everybody. Including Cletus Fowler and Stuart James. "You know, we're pretty much single-handedly responsible for bringing down two criminal organizations in less than a month? And we're not even cops anymore?" 

Chris thought about it for a second, and grinned at him. 

"I'm getting out of here before you start congratulating each other," Orrin said. 

"Probably should," Chris agreed, and stood up. "The boys are coming out for touch football and celebrating," he added. 

Buck grinned when an appalled look crossed Travis's face. "I'll call you when I hear from James," he said, and Buck let Chris hustle him out the front door. 

"You feel better now, Vin?" Buck asked, solicitous because really, in the heat of hunting down Fowler, he'd kind of forgotten about some of Vin's problems. But Vin looked peaceful, and Buck reckoned he understood. 

"Yeah, Buck, I do." 

"That's good, pard. That's real good." 

Chris dragged out the hundred-dollar hunk of filet and basted it in something, leaving it on the counter to sit. Every time they left meat out, all Buck could think about was having a dog or a cat so they'd have to guard their dinner from it. He smiled, easy and mellow, then rooted around in the refrigerator for a beer. The front doorbell rang before he could open it, and he went to answer, but Vin had beaten him to it and in front of him stood Nathan and Raine, both of them looking like the proud parents they were. 

Nathan held a little bundle of blankets in the cradle of his arms, and he stiffened when Buck reached for her. "What do you think I'm gonna do, Nate, run off with her? Gimme." 

"You gotta be careful, Buck, be sure to—" 

"I've held babies before," Buck said loftily, "plenty of times." And he had—Adam most of all, but he'd dated more than one single parent with a little one in his time, and he took the pretty little girl like the pro he was, tucking her up against his chest. Her tiny mouth opened wide and her eyes crinkled up like she was about to scream, but then she settled down, gurgling instead while Buck offered her the tip of his pinky to suckle on. 

"Have you washed your hands?" Nathan asked, sounding suspicious, and Buck laughed quietly so as not to disturb the little thing. 

"No, I stuck 'em in the toilet," he chided. "Of course I'm clean." He shared a look with Raine and turned toward the kitchen. "What's her name?"

"Summer," Raine said, sounding pleased. 

"Aww, that's beautiful," he said. Her skin was all coffee with cream, and it did make her look healthy and pretty—no splotchy red like Adam had been. "Hey Chris," he called softly, walking her back to the kitchen, "look what the cat dragged in." 

Chris washed the marinade off his hands and slid up beside Buck, his shoulder pressed tight against his, and he reached to chuck the baby's chin with one finger. He didn't seem to have any interest in holding her though, and Buck understood that. "She looks a little scrawny, doesn't she?" he asked, his voice serious but his eyes, which Buck could see clearly, sparkling with mirth. 

"Seven pounds, seven ounces," Nathan said, outraged. 

"Trust me," Raine said, "she's plenty big." 

Buck laughed at how heartfelt she sounded, handed the baby back to Nathan and slid an arm around Raine's still-distended waist, rubbing the small of her back. It would take her a few weeks to get her figure back if he remembered rightly. "Bet you did great," he praised her. The whole birthing process, it amazed him and repulsed him a little on some levels… he liked to think of a woman's crotch as all about the pleasure, and childbirth offered none of that. Still, pregnancy was a beautiful thing—Raine had been gorgeous even after she'd started waddling, and Sarah the most beautiful thing he'd ever witnessed, right up to her first labor pain. 

"Either of you want a beer?" he heard Chris ask. 

Neither parent did, Raine because she was nursing and Nathan because he was supporting his wife. Buck envisioned many early nights for Nathan, and a little more office work for the rest of them, over the next year or two. And that was all right; change was good. Great even, sometimes. 

"I'll take one."

"You left yours on the kitchen table," Chris chided him. 

"Oh, yeah." He got the cap off this time before another knock came at the front. "Is there a reason these people don't let themselves in?" he grumbled, but he knew the answer; Chris was the king of his castle and he'd no more welcome someone assuming than he'd welcome his parents for a long-term visit. Which wouldn't bother Buck if Chris would answer the goddamned door on occasion. 

JD had hitched a ride up with Josiah, and each of them had an armload of bowls, a big, leafy salad covered in cellophane from Josiah, and some kind of potato surprise from JD. It would go good with the steak. "What's Ezra bringing?" Buck asked, helping JD juggle the bowls. 

"I told him to bring dessert," Josiah said. Of all of them, only Josiah would stoop to coordinating food on the rare times they got together for a meal or a game up here. "And I've got some corn on the cob to boil up or throw on the grill. It's still in the car." 

Buck picked up his beer again, settling down at the table to watch everybody congratulate Nathan and Raine, and compliment the baby. Josiah had already seen her, dropped over yesterday evening for a first look and a turn sitting with the baby while Raine and Nathan took a nap together. He was going to be a big help to them both, if he made the time. 

When he heard the distinctive bleep of Ezra's car alarm, he raised his bottle to Chris. "Your turn," he said pointedly, and tried to communicate with a look alone that he would stay parked in this chair until Ezra broke into the house before he'd move to answer that door again. Chris frowned at him but trudged up the hall. 

"I'm hoping we'll have good reason to pull down all that surveillance equipment this week," Chris was saying as he herded Ezra back, and suddenly the kitchen was overfull. 

"Yes, you enjoy yourselves at that," Ezra said coolly. 

"Come on, Ez," Buck cajoled him, "you didn't help put 'em up, it's only fair you help take 'em down." 

Ezra's lip curled. "Is this like that trite old adage that the cook shouldn't have to do the cleanup, because he cooked? Here's a tip; if you don't want to clean up, order out." 

Seemed like Ezra's superiority was going to use up all the extra space in the kitchen. No wonder Vin was hiding somewhere… on the other hand, this might be the perfect time to handle business. 

"Hey, guys," he called, getting everyone's attention. "We're moving offices. There's some pictures for you to look at, tell us what you think."

Ezra's eyes narrowed. "Where is it?" he demanded. 

"Little west of North Druid Hills, right off the 85," Buck shot back, and grinned when Ezra smiled. One down, four to go. 

"Little out of the way," Josiah said, but Buck had already opened the folder on the table and started passing around pictures. 

"There's parking," he said, like he was admiring a beautiful woman's breasts. "Onsite. And a patio off to one side for JD's cigarettes. Actual offices—"

"I want one." Ezra said it fast. 

"Not on your life," Chris frowned, shutting him down even faster. "One's for Buck, one's for me. I need you where I can keep an eye on you anyway, Ezra," he said, and he didn't particularly seem to be joking about it. 

"Spoilsport," Ezra grumbled, but he leafed through the pictures with JD at his side and Josiah staring over his shoulder. Nathan, still holding little Summer, waited his turn. "It's passable," he critiqued. "But then anything's better than where we are now."

"You mean our homey little place? Or Orrin's big ol' warehouse?"

"Both," Ezra said. 

"Let me see," Nathan asked, holding out one hand. "In case y'all didn't notice, I've got a baby here." 

Buck grinned at his pique, and figured a new office shouldn't get more attention than that sleepy little bundle in his arms. "And she is a beauty," Buck said. "Look at her, JD." 

JD already had, but dutifully, he did it again, though it was clear to Buck that he wasn't much interested in people who couldn't talk or fuck yet. Nathan didn't even notice, which just caused Buck's grin to widen. 

"One more thing," Chris said, "while we're making changes. We need more help and Buck and I are thinking of hiring Vin. Any objections?" 

"Not from me, pard," Buck said, eager. "We've needed the help for a year or more now, and I'm sick and tired of living on the road." 

"Are you sure your interest in him isn't more personal?" Ezra asked shrewdly. 

Everyone in the room went stiff and silent, and Buck gave Ezra a hard look, then jerked his head Raine's way. As far as he knew, Raine at least hadn't been informed of their first little party. And nobody was gonna be informed of their second, if Buck had any say in it.

"Oh please," Ezra said, "like Nathan didn't gossip the first chance he got." Ezra turned to stare at Nathan, and the look on his face said plenty. If his skin weren't so dark Buck was sure he'd be able to see the man blushing. Raine just looked stern, not too uncomfortable. 

"Fine," he sighed, holding up a hand to stop any more talk as he met the question head-on, because it was clear Chris wasn't going to. He'd taken a sudden and deep interest in applying the dishrag to the spotless kitchen counter and showed no signs of stopping soon. "We need the help. That's a given. And he's good. You all know that too," he said. He looked around, meeting each man's eyes, then threw an apologetic look to Raine. She, at least, was pretending this conversation wasn't happening, and he was grateful for it. "Any, uh, non-professional interest there doesn't have a damned thing to do with business."

"It could if this little kink of yours goes sour and blows up in our faces."

Ezra had a point, but Buck wasn't willing to let him know it. "Ezra, you keep worrying about the queer stuff and I'm gonna start wondering about you again." 

"Oh, very funny," Ezra said, his voice dripping sarcasm. "I'm serious—"

"So am I," Buck said, hard. "The business is your business. Anything else… he's a damned good bounty hunter and he can take over most of the road work. If you think he can't, you speak up. Otherwise…" he trailed off, holding Ezra's stare, waiting for Ezra to back down. 

Ezra did, as obnoxiously as he could, which didn't surprise Buck much. "As long as he's going to be traveling, I suppose he can't cause too much mischief," Ezra sniffed. 

Buck eased back in his chair and took a sip of his beer. "So it's settled then. We're signing the lease on Monday and we'll start moving in right away."

"Well, let me know when it's done and I'll pack up my things from Travis's office and join you all."

"Ezra," Chris said darkly, "you really think you're gonna get out of pulling down the surveillance equipment and helping move the office?"

"Yes," Ezra said flatly. 

Buck could see Chris's back stiffen and knew his partner was about to pay Ezra back for sticking his nose in where it didn't belong, so he stepped in quick. "Chris…" he waited until Chris at least looked at him, all smoldering eyes and hard mouth and Buck just wanted to grab him up and suck his face. He restrained himself. He had years of practice at deferring gratification, no matter what folks liked to say. "If Ezra doesn't want to help, he doesn't have to." His head turned away and hidden from Ezra's view, he raised his eyebrows meaningfully. 

A thoughtful look crossed Chris's face, and then he grinned cheerfully. "All right, Ezra, no problem." 

Ezra stiffened, throwing sharp and suspicious looks between them. "What," he said. 

"Nothing, Ezra," Chris replied easily. "You don't want to help, you don't have to." 

"Hey!" JD jumped in, irritated. "I might not want to help either!"

"You have to, kid," Buck said repressively. "Nobody but you knows how to set up the computer systems. We got that patio just for you and your cigarettes you know," he added to sweeten the deal. "You can wire it too, hide out there and run backups and get us back up to speed while we do the heavy lifting." 

JD grumbled a little but Buck could tell he liked having skills they needed and valued. And even if he suspected he'd be shifting boxes with the rest of them, he shut up for the moment. 

"I am not helping move," Ezra said again, tentative now like he suspected a trap. Which was good, since that's exactly what Buck and Chris were gonna lay for him. 

"No problem, Ez," Buck said. He took a long draw off his beer, happy enough with the way things were turning out. Ezra would get paranoid enough that he'd be the first one to show, if they played things right. This was going to be fun. "Vin'll help us get things situated, and he'll work a damned sight more than you would."

"Where is our new junior assistant, anyway?" Ezra asked, peering over his shoulder. 

"Hiding from you," Chris growled, then blew out a slow breath. The mood he'd been in lately, Buck suspected Chris didn't want to get mad any more than Ezra wanted him to. "Probably working on his truck. It took some fire out in the pasture that night. I'll go fetch him, and then…" he glowered at Ezra but it didn't hold any real heat, "we're gonna play football. And I'm gonna kick your ass out there, Ezra." 

"You can try," Ezra muttered, about two seconds after the screen door closed behind Chris. 

Buck chuckled. 

Their crowd's version of touch football wasn't very polite, and two hours later, Buck, Chris, and JD had gotten their asses handed to them by Josiah, Vin, and Ezra. Vin was one cutthroat sonofabitch at play—something Buck already knew—and he'd held nothing back, laughing, tackling JD even as JD screamed, "Touch football, touch, asshole!" every time. Ezra, his pants and shirt wet with grass stains, preened and held the ball aloft on his way back to the deck where Nathan and Raine had set up camp with the baby. Nathan, he just wouldn't leave his women's sides, not even for a friendly game that blew away the last of the steam any of them held over the stresses of the past few weeks. 

"Thought you hated to get dirty, Ezra," Buck teased him, rubbing his arm. He'd scraped his elbow on something—probably Vin—and would have to sneak off and pour peroxide on the bloody patch before long. 

"I'm willing to sacrifice a great deal for victory," Ezra replied, laughing. 

Buck was typically willing to sacrifice a great deal to feel Chris grabbing his balls for the handoff, so he didn't have too much to complain about. Still, he was gonna have to have a little talk with Vin about playing for the right team no matter whose side he was on. Buck looked around the deck; everybody was smiling or laughing, and Vin had somehow snatched little Summer from her mama's arms even though he was sweating and dirty. 

"Hey! How come he gets to hold her without scrubbing up first?" Buck called to Nathan as he parked himself in the far corner of the deck by the steps.

"Dirt's good for kids, Buck," Vin said. "Kick-starts their immune systems and teaches 'em to really get in there and live life."

Buck wondered where Vin had learned that, noticing Raine's calm nod of agreement so there must be some medical information to support it, then laughing at the horrified look on Nathan's face. 

"Give me—" he held out his hands, but Raine touched his arm. 

"Honey," she soothed, "look at him. He's fine with her." 

And Vin was, handsome and glowing with healthy sweat and keeping her tucked up in the crook of his elbow, rocking his shoulders a little back and forth. Buck thought about the kids in the photographs back at Vin's cabin, and knew Vin had insinuated himself into their lives just like Buck had in Adam's. Favorite uncle, the fun one, games and baths and all the easy stuff, suffering the harder stuff—crying and temper tantrums while mama and papa were out at a movie—only to help out the parents. Happy to have the fun, happier to hand 'em back before things got too real…. 

"Hey." Chris stood just beside him, almost closer than a touch. 

Buck dropped his arm around Chris's shoulder, not wanting bad memories—or even good ones—to spoil anything today. "He looks like one of those men's cologne commercials, doesn't he?" he whispered, "all man but still holding that baby." 

Chris breathed out a laugh and slipped his arm around Buck's waist, tugging until their hips bumped together. "You want to offer him the job, or should I?" 

Buck shrugged, whispered back, "I don't care. You want to?" 

He could almost feel Chris thinking about it, and probably knew the answer before Chris did, then his partner nodded. "Keep things nice and clear," he said. And Buck was all right with that. 

"Well go on then," he offered, and stepped away, crossed the deck to scoop the baby out of Vin's arms and jerk his head in Chris's direction while Nathan grumbled about germs and dirt and fragile little bodies. 

"Do you want him to start tossing that child into the air?" Ezra asked, and Buck chuckled at that. "Keep egging him on, and he probably will just to spite you."

"I like him, Ez," Buck teased them both. "Uh, I think she might need changing," he said, and handed her back quick enough. Nathan and Raine disappeared into the house together, and Buck tried not to picture them putting that poop machine on his sofa. He hoped Chris had herded Vin at least as far as the front office. With this many people up here they needed traffic signals in the hall. 

Vin came out back a few minutes later, a disgruntled look on his face. 

"So," Ezra began, "should we offer a celebratory toast, Mr. Tanner?" he asked. 

"For what?" Vin frowned, and Buck got the moment Vin realized they'd all talked about it. Him. "No," he muttered. "I need to think on it."

"What's to think about?" JD said. Buck knew that in the kid's eyes, W&L was the hottest game in town, and for sure as hell JD would never understand a man who preferred to work alone. But then, Buck didn't think Vin much preferred it himself. He just didn't know any other way. 

Vin didn't answer JD, Buck noted, even though JD stood there expectantly. "Hey, kid, if he needs to think on it, we need to let him."

JD backed off a few steps, still looking confused, and Buck took the opportunity to cut Vin out of the herd and push him down the deck steps. "We'll be right back," he called over his shoulder, guiding Vin out into the yard.

Still, he heard JD mutter "So he gets to push but I don't?" 

And Ezra's reply. "He may have more to bargain with, child." 

Buck snickered when the pair of them started scuffling behind them, even though Vin had colored a little at their words. "Chris offer you the job?" Buck asked, to get Vin's attention. 

"Yeah."

"And he told you there's no strings attached?"

"Yeah." 

"Then what's to think about?"

Vin rounded on him, his shoulders stiff. "I've got a whole life back in Wyoming, Buck—"

"You don't have shit in Wyoming," Buck cut in, but gently. "You've got yourself a nice little monastic cell, and you look over the hill to where what you wanted has gotten on with his life. That's not living, Vin. That's barely even surviving." 

Head down, Vin replied, "I like my family, Buck. You call your damned mother enough, you should understand that." 

"I do," Buck said, thinking on it. "I understand family. And I'm sorry, pard, I know you love those people back there. But Vin… they aren't your life."

"And Atlanta is?" Vin asked, turning bleak eyes on him.

"It could be," Buck said, as honestly as he could. "You can find a place here, Vin. Good business, good working partners—no shit, every one of 'em. Even JD and Ezra. And maybe something more." He didn't reach out because he knew Ezra at least would be watching, but he met Vin's look squarely, offering what he could. 

"You're a fool, Buck," Vin muttered. 

He chuckled, low. "So I've been told. But I wouldn't change a damned thing about my life, Vin. Can you say that?"

When Vin stumbled half a step back Buck knew he'd made his point. "Look," he said, "whatever could happen between you and Chris and me, that's… that's something. But it's not why we're asking you to stay. You'd be good for business. And whatever does happen, or doesn't, you're a good friend. I hope you think the same of us." Buck let Vin think about that for a minute. Then he figured, what the hell, and reached out to clasp Vin's shoulder. "It's too early for promises," he said, "about anything. But I'm thinking we all already know there's something good could come from all this." 

Vin stiffened under his hand but he didn't pull away and didn't take his eyes off the ground. "Or I could wind up just like I was in Wyoming." 

Buck didn't have an answer for that—at least, not a good one. But he tried. "Worst case scenario, Vin, very worst case, we're all friends with a little fun on the side now and again, and we all know where we stand. Better, we admit where we stand. We don't live a lie every waking moment. Best case…" he trailed off, because he really wasn't sure what that was yet. "And either way, you've already found at least two good friends here, in Chris and me. I hope you know that."

"I don't really know either one of you," Vin said.

"Then how come I know you so well?" He waited a minute, but Vin didn't seem to have anything more to say. "Look, Vin, take the job. Try it for six months. We'll… we'll see how things go," he said lamely. "It's not like Wyoming won't still be there." 

Vin did look up at that, but just to scowl. "If I stay…" he swallowed. "If I stay, I need to find a place of my own." 

"What's wrong with here?"

Vin acted like he hadn't even heard the words. "I'd need room, need to find my way down here." 

Buck wanted to argue, but he could already tell he was getting most of what he wanted, and with a little luck and a little work, time would give them all the rest. Hell, Vin getting his own place might even be a good idea. It would let them all find their way without too much pressure. "I'll help you start looking for a place, whenever you're ready." 

Vin glared at him. "You think you're so smart," he growled, but there wasn't much heat to it. 

And because Buck was pretty sure he'd just done an end-run around all of Vin's objections, he felt pretty smart too. "Come on," he said, steering Vin by the shoulder he still held, "let's go back and see what Ezra's saying about us."

"That man sure likes to hear his own voice," Vin muttered, falling into step beside Buck. 

"That he does," Buck replied, his heart easy. 

Nathan and Raine got ready to leave shortly after dinner, and Ezra announced that he should go too since he'd blocked them in with his car. Buck knew Ezra was just trying to avoid clean-up duty, but he let it slide. 

Josiah and JD were still there when the call from Captain Barker came on Buck's cell phone. "Hey Cap," he said. "What're you doing working on Sunday?"

"Trying to get the mess you boys made into some semblance of order. Buck, what do you know about Barbara Wilson?" 

"Hold on." He didn't know how to mute his phone, so he just stuck it against his chest. "Chris, front office," he said. "Josiah, JD, Vin, we'll be back in a minute. We need to take this call." 

Once Chris had closed the door behind them, Buck surrendered his phone to Chris to make him put it on speaker, watching closely and not believing it really was just one button. Damn. "Cap? Can you hear us?"

"I've been able to hear you since you said 'hold on'," she said, dry. "Just you and Chris?"

"Yeah, Cap," Chris said. He looked a little lost, and Buck realized that before this week it must've been a couple of years at least since he'd heard her voice. "Just me and Buck." Buck wondered what the memories might be this time, and at how well Chris had been handling them lately. 

"Fowler had a file on Barbara Wilson, whose current employment is at Quick Release," Barker said. "What do you know about her?"

"Less than you," Buck said. "Nice old lady, widow I think. A little stiff." He looked to Chris. "Doesn't she have grandkids or something?"

"How the hell would I know?" Chris frowned. To the phone he said, "Is she our rat?"

"It looks like," Captain Barker said. "The state task force has been very forthcoming, we've got copies of everything they pulled from Brunswick and gentlemen, let me tell you, it's a whole heap of criminal connections in this area. Her name is cross-referenced with a number of people Travis has posted bails for. Some of whom got away."

"Inside information," Buck said, and whistled. "She must've been offering her help to whoever'd pay. No wonder some of his skips were so hard to find." 

"What're you planning?" Chris asked the captain. 

"To pick her up, of course. But…" the pause stretched on too long. 

"But you don't know if you can make the paper trail tight enough," Chris said. "Call Orrin. I've got his home number." 

"And ask him what, exactly?" she said, sounding irritated. "If he'd mind helping us incarcerate his secretary?"

"Damned straight. Cap, Orrin Travis is a straight arrow," Buck said, damned glad to be able to. "He'll want her gone and he'll be plenty happy to make an example of her, if she's been skimming money off his sureties or damaging his business. The fact that she's been helping criminals while she does it…."

"Call him," Chris told her. "You'll have more help than you know what to do with." 

"All right," Barker said. "It looks like she used her position, and her connections with law enforcement, to tip all kinds of people. I don't even know how far-reaching it could be."

"Texas?" Chris asked.

Buck felt his eyebrows climb in surprise. "Damn," he said. "Have you run across anything on an Elijah Whitney?" Chris had already told him there was no file on James, a fact that bothered Buck unreasonably. 

"I don't know. Hell." She blew out a breath and Buck wondered when the last time she'd left her office was. "I've got eight people going through Fowler's records and it still isn't enough." 

"Well Orrin will help you," Chris said. "And if she's connected to Stuart James in any way, you'd best get her out of his office right quick. Orrin was subpoenaed to testify against James, and he's already gone in once. She could be leaking information right now." 

"Right. We'll call him. Thanks, Buck. Chris, good to hear your voice."

"You too, Cap," Chris said, quiet. 

Chris gave her Travis's home number, then Buck rang off and grinned. "So Orrin's not a rat," he said. 

"I never thought he was," Chris said, a bald-faced lie but Buck was glad to hear it. 

"Palminteri isn't either," he said. 

Chris frowned. "He's just a prick. Don't know which I like less," Chris said, but he looked pretty pleased himself. "Orrin's back to owing us now," he added. 

Buck chuckled and pulled Chris into a quick hug. "Little old lady like that, though? I wonder what she was in it for?" 

"I don't know and I don't really care," Chris said, then his arms wrapped around Buck, squeezing tight before he let go. "Okay pard, dial it back. We've still got company." 

"Hasn't stopped us yet," Buck leered. 

Chris flushed a little, embarrassed Buck supposed. "Well… come on." 

Chris led the way back to the kitchen, pleasantly surprised when nobody tried to grill him or Buck about the call. He smirked—that was just because Ezra was already gone. "Okay, let's clean up this mess. We've got stuff to do tomorrow but Tuesday morning, we'll meet at the office and start getting things ready to move. Buck'll get the paperwork in order, see how quick we can get into the new place."

"New places," Josiah said dreamily. "I always like going there." 

Chris handed him a dishtowel, wondering if he ought to make sure JD drove home. His life was so close to back to normal—better than normal, after the past few weeks and bringing Vin onto the job—he couldn't wait to get it all started. "Buck and I need to take care of something in the morning," he said, stacking plates. "We'll catch up to you as soon as we can." 

"What?" JD asked. 

"Nothing that concerns you, boy," Buck said, shutting him down before he could get started. Chris shot Buck a grateful look, not even sure Buck remembered that they needed to drive down to Scott State Pen to see Tim Fox. He wanted to tie up the loose ends as quick as he good, because "normal" was looking better and better to him every minute; a little much-deserved downtime, a new storefront closer to home, his own office, a new employee and a better friend… maybe a lot more than that if they could figure out how to make something like that work. 

Chris wasn't as worried about it as he thought he should be; if anybody in the world could juggle sexual politics and emotion, it was Buck. 

He sent Josiah and JD packing a little after sunset and took himself out to the deck with a beer. The quiet was… he hadn't gotten nearly enough of it lately. He'd barely had the thought before the sound of the screen door opening interrupted it. "Chris?"

"What?" he not-quite-snapped, tilting his head toward Buck. 

Buck grinned at him. "Nothin'. I'm gonna watch TV." 

Chris reckoned he should feel a little bad for chasing Buck off like that, but he smiled instead. Buck Wilmington didn't seem to know how to take things personally, even some things he should. And this? This was nothing more than him wanting a moment of peace and quiet. He sipped at his beer, watching the dark eat up the long shadows, until all he could see was the outlines of the trees against the stars. 

He took his empty beer bottle inside and threw it in the trash, then wandered into the bedroom, just leaning in the doorway. It was dark in here too, but in the light from the hall he could just make out the bureau, and the empty rifles still standing in a corner. He ought to clean them right now and then pack them away. But he held up his left hand instead, watching the light catch his wedding ring, and felt the smile tug at his face again. TV sounded really good. 

Buck was stretched out on the couch alone, and Chris looked around as he prodded Buck's legs off to make room. "Where's Vin?"

"Bedroom," Buck said, clearly engrossed in whatever SciFi channel horror flick was on. "I think he wanted to give Chanu a call."

"Yeah?" Chris crooked his head around to peer up the hall. "About what?"

Buck whapped him on the arm, his heavy watch making a harder impact than he'd probably intended. "What do you think?" he groused. "Now come here and shut up, I'm trying to watch the movie." 

Chris let himself be manhandled until Buck was squeezed on his side against the back of the couch and he was stretched almost flat in front of him, his left arm shoved up over his own chest. "Honeymoon over already?" he asked, pleased with his position. 

Buck didn't answer in words, but his hand took up Chris's, finger and thumb tracing his ring. A second later Chris felt soft breath on his neck, not touching, just… breathing on him. He tried to squirm but Buck's chuckle forced him still and quiet, and he turned his head to try and focus on the movie. 

But that damned breathing, aimed all along his neck, at the back of his ear had his dick shifting in his pants already, from no more than that. Buck was… Buck was contagious, is what he was. Chris smiled and settled in a little deeper, more than content to let it build until a commercial came on or until Buck admitted he didn't care one whit about the stupid—what was it? A mosquito man?

He heard a door snick quietly open toward the front of the house and stiffened. He'd almost forgotten Vin was still here. A second later Vin wandered into the room, took in the pair of them on the couch with a quick glance before his eyes flicked to the TV. "What'chall watching?" 

"Well," Buck said, his voice rich with enough humor to warn Chris, "I'm watching Chris get all hot and bothered, but there's a movie on TV too." 

Vin chuckled, low and easy. His phone call must've gone well. Chris wondered what he'd said, and what he'd hoped to hear. "You two mind if I…?" Vin asked, and waved his arm toward the recliner. 

"Hell no," Chris said, then in the interests of fair play admitted, "but we might not be in here long." 

"That's good," Vin said sincerely, and settled into the chair. 

Chris went back to trying to watch the movie but Buck went back to breathing on him, and soon enough he felt a new stiffness prodding his hip. He swallowed a grin; he, at least, had the excuse of Buck breathing with intent on him. Buck was just thinking and his dick had sprung up. He laid there for as long as he could stand it, until his whole shoulder was aching with the need to be touched and his dick was trying to poke a hole through his jeans before he wiggled a little. Then feigned a yawn that got Buck to chuckling, right there against his ear. "Guess it's time for bed," he said. 

"What about supper? We haven't even had supper," Buck said, his voice teasing but low, thick with desire. 

"We'll eat later," Chris said, and rolled off the couch. "Come on." He held his hand out for Buck, then walked out of the living room. 

"I was gonna heat up some leftovers in a while, if y'all are serious about coming back out," Vin called quietly. 

"Thanks, Vin," Buck said, and tugged his hand out of Chris's hold. Chris leaned on the doorframe, pretty much knowing what to expect, and watched his partner walk stiff-legged across the room. Vin looked up, a question in his eyes that faded fast when Buck leaned in and pressed a peck to his lips. "Really. Thanks."

Vin grinned, that "aww shucks" look he got. "Sure. Go on, now. And keep it down, I'm tryin' to watch TV here." 

Vin looked over Buck's shoulder as Buck started out, and caught Chris's gaze. Chris gave him half a smile, comfortable enough with Vin here that it was almost uncomfortable, and turned toward the bedroom. 

He didn't get two steps into the room before Buck tackled him from behind, throwing him onto the bed and then landing heavily on top of him, and then… just breathing again, this time on the back of his neck. Damn, but that nothing-touch and Buck's warm, heavy weight on him shouldn't stir him so. He ground his dick against the mattress and the inside of his jeans, groaning low in his throat. "Buck, I swear to God…" 

"Comfy," Buck said, keeping him pinned. 

Chris felt every muscle in his body tense, slow and hard, as Buck just barely pushed his hips down against his ass. He could feel the hard bar of Buck's cock, and lifted back up against it. "Can't you think of something better to do with that than dry hump it against my jeans?" he grumbled, or tried to. This was—this was good, in so many ways, the anticipation winding him as tight as any more skillful foreplay might. 

"I can think of a lot of things," Buck whispered, and finally—finally! Buck's mouth touched his skin, sucking hard on the back of his neck.

"Don't you mark me," he growled. 

Buck drew back just enough to say, "Oh, I think I will," his breath playing across the damp spot now. 

Chris surged, pressing with hand and knee to throw Buck to one side and then, while Buck just lay there, he crawled on top of him. "We really…" he said between kisses, "really…" more kisses, "need to get out of these clothes before we damage something." 

Buck's hands squeezed at his ass. "Yeah," Buck said thoughtfully, his voice deep, "I reckon we'd better. Let me up." 

Chris climbed off him and started unbuttoning his jeans, amused and almost painfully aroused when Buck merely propped up on his elbows to watch avidly. His tongue came out, licking at his lips as Chris eased his jeans and underwear down and his erection sprang free, the cooler air in the room a pleasant shock to his heated skin. "Damn," Buck said. "Damn, I…" and then all that lazy anticipation switched over and Buck was off the bed, hands on his zipper and stumbling in his haste to kick off his shoes. 

A minute later, probably less, they were back on the bed, almost but not quite as still as they'd been before. Buck nosed Chris's jaw to one side, kissing his throat, nipping, then starting to suck. He'd have been better off with a hickey on the back of his neck where his hair might hide it, but still, he didn't tense or try to shift away. He just relaxed into the mattress, working hard to breathe with two hundred pounds of man on him and their fingers laced together. His hips barely moved in counterpoint to Buck's barely-there thrusts. He breathed, and felt the blood being pulled to the skin under the suction of Buck's mouth, let Buck bruise him, mark him. He was pretty much willing to let Buck do whatever the hell he wanted to him, at the moment. Even drag the tension up until he thought he'd scream. 

The suction slowed, then stopped altogether and again, he felt Buck just breathing on his throat. "Shit…" he hissed, but before he could really complain, that soft mouth was back and moving down his neck, onto his chest. A bite to his nipple had him hissing again but Buck abandoned it to slide further down, and Chris sucked in a sharp, anticipatory breath. Fingers framed his groin and he felt the tickle of mustache almost before Buck's mouth closed over him, drawing his dick in. More hot wet suction, more skillfully applied, and he slid a hand into his partner's thick hair, guiding. Gentle, like Buck's mouth was on him. He felt like he'd be trapped here forever, right on the edge, so tight-strung it was almost like pain, but Buck took pity on him and did something magic with his tongue, and finally moved a little faster, fast enough—Chris came like a storm, his whole body trembling like a leaf and his hands painfully clamped on Buck's head. 

When he finally pried his fingers away, Buck's head popped up like a jack-in-the-box and he looked too damned pleased with himself. "You didn't need that, did you?" 

"Get up here," Chris growled, because he sure as hell couldn't be expected to move after that. 

"How do you—" 

Chris tugged at his waist, pulling him up and further up until Buck's legs were spread wide across his chest. "Come here," he said, and lifted his head, opened his mouth. 

Buck didn't need telling twice and Chris just relaxed into it, using his hand for what his mouth couldn't reach in this position even though it took a great effort to lift his arm, trying to smile at Buck's bitten-off curses and graphic instructions. He didn't really need to hear any of it; he'd been told more than once by the owner of the dick in his mouth that he was pretty good at this. Buck's long body blocked the light when he fell forward onto his hands somewhere above Chris's head, and his shallow thrusts got faster, harder, not quite choking him which was more than Chris could usually manage—

"Fuck," Buck barked out, "fuck, I—" and then bitter semen hit his soft palate and he swallowed, and again, finally raising his other hand to squeeze a tight-clenched ass cheek. He breathed through his nose as Buck finished, let Buck hover there above him and just pant with his cock in the soft wet heat of his mouth, breathing in the smell of his partner, all man and come and fresh sweat. 

"Mmm," he finally mumbled, and Buck grunted and drew away, then toppled over onto his back, still breathing like he'd run a race. 

"You ever miss the days when we just had to fuck to get off?" he asked idly. 

Beside him, Buck chuckled. "Hell no."

Chris grinned at the ceiling and flopped his hand around until he found his partner's and held it tight. "Me neither." 

W&L • W&L • W&L

They never had gotten their damned dinner in, so when Buck woke to a growling stomach at four a.m. he slipped out of bed to make a leftover fillet mignon sandwich. Chris plodded in when he was about halfway through it, rubbing at his eyes and already dressed in his running shorts. "Vin up" Chris asked muzzily. 

"I don't know," Buck said, chewing with great satisfaction. 

"Well was the coffee on?" Chris growled. 

Buck grinned. Chris before coffee or his run was a real bear, sometimes. "It's still dark out," he said, ignoring the pot and the fact he hadn't noticed whether it was on or not. "What the hell would he be doing up?"

"We're up," Chris said, stumbling toward the pot. "And in about ten minutes, you're going to regret eating that thing." 

That was only if Chris managed to drag him out the door before six, and Buck had already decided that wasn't going to happen. "Guess again," he said. "I'm having a little snack and then we're going back to bed." 

Chris looked at Buck, finally noticing that he was still naked, and raised his eyebrows. "What time is it?" 

"Just after four," Buck said. 

"Then what the hell am I doing up? And give me a bite of that." 

Buck held his sandwich up out of reach for a second and said, "Get your own!" then handed it over. Chris wolfed down a couple of bites with a dreamy smile on his face, making happy noises that were better suited to the bedroom, and Buck smiled. "Want me to make another one?"

"God, yes," Chris groaned. Buck hadn't been sure one sandwich would be enough for him anyway, but sharing a second one with Chris seemed like it would do the trick. He grabbed paper towels to protect the sheets and led his partner back to bed by holding the sandwich behind him like a carrot in front of a mule. 

The lamp was on, and Buck flopped back onto the bed and took a big bite out of the sandwich while Chris was still knee-walking across the mattress. Chris looked so damned disappointed that Buck laughed with his mouth full. "I didn't say I was making it for you," he teased, but handed it over anyway. 

Chris hadn't stripped down, was still wearing his running gear. It would give him a minute's head start when they got back up in an hour, but Buck didn't mind. He just relaxed back against the pillows, waiting his turn as they passed the sandwich back and forth and tried not to get too many crumbs on the bed, then held his arm out for Chris to curl up against him. He didn't even turn off the lamp, and he doubted Chris dozed, but he did, a little. Still, the quiet sound of Vin moving through the house caused him to stir. 

"You reckon if we wait five minutes, he'll have the coffee on?" Buck asked quietly, just in case Chris had nodded off. 

"Oh yeah," Chris sighed, again sounding so sensuously happy that Buck wanted to be jealous of the coffeemaker. 

He rolled out of bed a second later, heard Chris peel off toward the bathroom, and got to the kitchen just as the coffeemaker gave its last, loud burble. "Mmm, coffee ready?" he asked.

Vin startled, turning around, then frowned down his body—damn, Buck had forgotten again and he was naked as a jaybird. Still, he was a little old to be jumping behind kitchen chairs, especially when he'd already bedded the audience in question, so he just grabbed a cup and poured it full, blowing steam off the top and slurping noisily to cool it. 

"You're up early," Vin said, eyes firmly on Buck's face. 

Buck swallowed down a grin. "Yeah. We slept right through. Damn, I don't think I've slept that good in weeks." 

"Well, good," Vin said quietly. "Y'all probably needed it." 

"You going running with us this morning?" Buck asked. 

"Little early, isn't it?"

Buck shrugged. "I'm up, Chris is up, you're up…" 

"Yeah," Vin said, but he looked toward the back door, and Buck guessed that Vin must do this every morning, slip out for a few minutes with nature. Still, it was the same nature out the front door, and—oh. He wanted a few minutes to himself. 

"Go on ahead," he ordered kindly. "Fifteen, twenty minutes we'll give you a holler."

Vin nodded, smiled, and pointedly looked down his naked body. Buck tried not to preen, and accepted Vin's head shake of amusement and his appreciatively raised eyebrows as his due. 

Chris walked in seconds after the back door closed behind Vin. "Damn it, Buck, put some clothes on," he growled. 

"Here," Buck offered, handing his coffee cup over. Chris took a big gulp and sighed while Buck grabbed another cup for himself. "You're welcome," he grinned. "Vin's out back. Thought we could give him a few minutes with mother nature before we head out." 

"Sounds good," Chris said, and leaned back against the counter. Chris seemed in fine spirits, and Buck kept finding his gaze wandering back to the wedding ring. He laughed softly at his own soft-heartedness, but it mattered to him, that Chris was wearing his ring. Felt a bit like high school all over, only so damned much better. 

"So," Buck said, and grinned, "we've got fifteen minutes before we head out." He waggled his eyebrows in invitation. 

Chris frowned at him. "You have got to be kidding me," he groused. 

Buck wasn't, not really. But he wasn't aching for it either, so he shrugged off his partner's put-down and took his coffee back to the bedroom to get dressed. They gave Vin a few more minutes before they rousted him for their run, and the early morning quiet settled into Buck's bones. All he could hear was the steady pound of their shoes on the road shoulder and the sound of his own breath in his chest, his heart beating hard and strong against his ribs. 

"Y'all think there's a corner in Travis's office I could do a little work?"

"You in that much of a hurry to start in?" 

"Guess so," Vin grinned. "This is about the longest vacation I've had in years."

Buck gaped at him. "You call this a vacation? Shit. Vacations don't have perimeter security and bad guys gunning for you, Vin."

Vin shrugged. "Still. If you're sure about that job offer, I could use the time to get to know your schedule, who you've got on your board." 

All bond agencies worked pretty much the same way, Buck knew, and even if Vin hadn't had an office of his own, he surely knew the ropes. 

Chris answered before he could, though. "They'll have room. You can drive in yourself or we'll drop you off. We've got a couple of trips to make, loose ends to tie up, but I was thinking I'd go over there myself later while Buck signs the deal on the new office. Tonight maybe we'll pull the plywood off our old place and start an inventory. See what we lost, start cleaning up the mess. You game for a little honest work?"

Buck laughed when Vin frowned at Chris. "I don't think we'll have to worry about that, Chris," Buck answered for him. 

Back at the house Buck showered alone, fast. Chris stepped in as he stepped out and they were all ready in record time, him and Chris cleaned and blow-dried, Vin with his damp hair dripping dark droplets onto his blue button-down shirt.

"I look okay?" Vin asked, frowning down at himself. "Y'all don't have a dress code do you?" He glanced up from under his hair, suddenly suspicious. 

"Not to speak of," Buck said, and grinned at the relief that crossed Vin's face. "You ready?"

Vin nodded and followed them out the door. Chris wanted to step in at Quick Release but Buck didn't so he stayed in the car. Chris came out fast and slid in behind the wheel. "Orrin's not in yet," he said. "His secretary is." 

"Think she knows about the Fowler bust?" Buck asked idly. 

Chris shook his head, thoughtful. "Be hard for her not to be, but she wasn't acting worried. The police had better close the net fast. I told our boys to keep an eye on her, tail her if she left the office."

That was a pretty good idea, actually, and Buck said so. "Don't want to lose her now," he said. "She might still know something we don't." 

"Maybe," Chris said, tapping his finger on the steering while as he drove. 

Buck let it go for now because there was nothing he could do about it until they got back from Hardwick. He settled a little deeper into his seat to enjoy the drive and the morning, and what they were about to spring on Tim Fox. 

When they got to the visitors' room at Scott State, they had to wait long enough that Buck started to wonder whether Fox would show. "Think he's heard?"

Chris shrugged. "He watches the news. The shootout was in the bar he told you about. He knows." Chris was tapping the folder against the tabletop and annoying the hell out of Buck in the process. He reached out to snatch it away just as Fox strolled into the room. 

"Larabee, Wilmington," he nodded coolly. "Stop coming here." 

"This'll be the last trip, Tim, unless you decide different," Chris said, and pushed the folder across the table. 

Buck split his attention between his partner's profile and Fox's face as Fox flipped through the pages. Buck knew what was in there, but it was damned obvious that Fox did too—or at least, had known something like it existed. He looked up a couple of times as he read, cautious glances to them and even more cautious ones around the room. 

"Who's seen this?" he asked eventually, a kind of finality in his voice that Buck understood. 

"Nobody but us," Buck said, and smiled. 

Fox made a rude sound. "Yeah, right."

"He's telling the truth, Tim," Chris said, and Buck admired Chris's cool. "I pulled that file out of Fowler's place myself, and unless there are copies on his computer, the cops won't see this. Not from us." 

Fox frowned. "Why?" 

Buck watched Chris's shoulders hike up on a deep breath, and relax fully when he exhaled, but Chris didn't say anything, he just threw Buck a look. Buck leaned forward for privacy. "That file shows us you're an asshole, but we already knew that. What we didn't know was that you really had nothing to do with the murders seven years ago." Buck didn't say the names out loud, knew he didn't have to. "That counts for something, Tim. And the fact we have this evidence—it's what you were afraid of, right? What Fowler could use to keep you under control, on top of his threats to hurt the people you loved?"

Fox didn't nod, wouldn't admit to anything Buck realized, but it didn't matter. They all three knew the truth. "That's yours, Tim. You're out from under him. You decide you want to thank us, you can tell the cops what you know and testify at Fowler's trial… or go ahead and kill him when he lands in prison. Either way you'd be doing us a favor." 

Fox's eyes narrowed and Buck sat patiently through the scrutiny, knew Chris was doing the same. "And if I don't do jack shit for either of you or the cops?" he asked. 

Chris leaned forward this time. "Makes no difference, Tim. The file goes away. You get that, for not having been involved in my family's deaths." 

Fox relaxed in his chair a little, not sure whether to believe them or not but they all knew he couldn't do anything about it regardless. "I'm not testifying," he said. "I've still got to survive in this hole." 

Buck waited. So did Chris. 

"But I'll tell you," he finally went on, "that I don't know the guy you asked about before, Larabee. Stuart James. Heard of him—I think maybe he's done business in Atlanta, but not my business. I don't know if Fowler knew him or not, but I doubt it. Fowler don't work with people he can't own." 

Buck shot Chris a look. "But Whitney knew 'em both," he said. "We've got evidence that proves that." 

Fox shrugged. "Maybe he did. There's plenty of men out there who answer to more than one boss, or freelance." 

Buck watched Chris nod, and stood when his partner did. He extended his hand because he knew Chris wouldn't, and wasn't surprised when Fox shook it. "Good luck in here, Tim," he said, almost meaning it. "Try to find something better to do with your life when you get out." 

Fox snorted and shook his head. "You know," he said easily, "I almost believe you're really gonna get rid of this," he said, nodding down to the folder that lay on the table between them. 

"You can believe it," Chris said. "We're not in the policing business anymore. But if you get out and get yourself arrested," Chris said with a tight, hard grin, "don't skip. We'll be the ones who'll find you." 

Fox snorted. "Yeah, right." He looked between Buck and Chris, then laughed. "The two of you… I never would've guessed," he said, then turned to go. 

Chris threw a confused look Buck's way, but Buck, grinning, just shook his head. It didn't matter. "Let's get out of here," he said to Chris, and swept the file off the table. 

"Yeah," Chris said easily. "Not much left to do." 

There wasn't. Just getting the new office space locked down, and he could call Julie from the car, and then sometime in the future, testimony in both the James and the Fowler cases. It still amazed him that there wasn't any connection between the two besides Whitney, but he'd seen stranger things in his day. 

Chris let himself out of the car at Quick Release's office with a squeeze to Buck's hand. "Call if you need anything," he said, then stood back to watch Buck drive away. He was, oddly, looking forward to the tedium of making calls, researching their sureties, and figuring out how the hell to furnish a new office without letting Ezra spend all their money. He nodded hello to Casey Wells at her desk by the doors, nodded equally easy hellos to the men and women he was acquainted with in Travis's place of business, but he steered his steps to Travis's office before finding the boys and a place to settle in. Mrs. Wilson sat there at her desk just like always, and he studied her covertly as he approached. She might look a little tense, yeah, and she ought to. He kept his fierce smile to himself, wondering when the cops would arrive and realizing only now that this was why he was really here. He wanted to bear witness to her arrest, to watch as they hauled off the woman who had betrayed Orrin for who knew how many years. 

He walked by her with no more than a nod and stuck his head into Travis's office unannounced. She had learned long ago not to try and stop him. "Orrin? You got a minute?" he said. 

Travis glared at him but finished his phone call and stood up. "I'm on my way out to my car," he said. "Walk with me."

Chris fell in beside him and they took the long hall that led back to the building's stairwell and side entrance. Neither of them said a word until they got outside. "My office is bugged," he growled. Chris raised his eyebrows, not completely surprised by the fact but plenty surprised by how furious Travis looked. 

"You'd best watch out, Orrin," he said, "you're gonna give yourself a stroke."

"Better that than kill that woman," he spat. "She knows everyone I know. She's worked for me for twenty years, damn it!" 

"Keep your voice down!" Chris hissed. Just because they were outside didn't mean they wouldn't draw unwanted attention. "What did the cops say?"

"Plenty," Orrin growled. Then he sucked in a deep breath and held it for second, smoothing a hand over his iron-gray hair. "I don't have a clue how many people she's connected to. Fowler, obviously…"

"Stuart James?" Chris asked. 

"I have no idea," Orrin said sourly. 

Chris shook his head. In truth he didn't much care anymore. 

"God damn it!" Orrin cursed. "Evie knows her, Chris. They're friends. Barbara, Jess, Stuart… I'm surrounded by criminals every day in this business, damn it." 

"Not like you have to keep working," Chris said reasonably, because it was true. The old man could have retired any time in the past ten years, his company large enough and organized enough to go on without him in the office every day. 

Just like that, Orrin Travis wilted, looking truly old for the first time since Chris had met him. "No," he said tiredly, "it isn't." 

"Orrin…" he paused, unsure what to say. "It's not your fault." 

Orrin shot him a hard stare. "Yes well, that makes all the difference, doesn't it?" 

Chris acknowledged the barb. Not being at fault wasn't enough to make things right, or erase all the wrongs. "Guess not," he admitted. Then he got to the point. "What did Stuart James say?" 

The stare hardened further. "Vin Tanner is the least of his worries. He knows that now. As to the life expectancy of Elijah Whitney, well, I doubt he's long for this earth." 

Chris leaned back against the building's wall and stared up at the narrow strip of blue sky above him, wondering why that didn't bother him more. There was a time when it would have, when he stood for justice and upholding the law and protecting the public good. But he wasn't that man anymore, hadn't been since the day Sarah had been killed. Oh, he was no hardened criminal and never would be, any more than Buck was. But somewhere along the way they had both decided that the law did a piss-poor job of righting all the wrongs, that they could live with themselves even in the face of suggesting to a convicted drug dealer that killing a man wouldn't be out of line. He just didn't care about upholding the law like he once had. He still cared about justice, but mostly he cared about his own life and the people he chose to let into it, the man who'd brought light back into the world after Sarah and Adam had been killed and the people who stood by him. People he'd stand by. Like the one beside him right now. 

"I'm sorry," he said, surprising himself. 

"I am too," Travis said, surprising him further. Then Orrin blew out a breath and the strength in the man reasserted itself. He tilted his chin up and glanced around, just taking in the city and the sky and the late morning sun. "Still, some good has come of this. Fowler's in jail. Whitney's in jail. Stuart James will join them and in the next hour or so that old bitch in my office will be hauled off in handcuffs."

Chris nodded, distantly pleased by those results as well. "And Vin's in the clear now. That's good too." 

"You've taken too personal an interest in that man," Orrin groused.

Chris didn't let himself smile; if Orrin only knew. "He's proven himself," he ventured. "Saved Buck, covered both our asses more than once these past few weeks. We're hiring him," he said, because Orrin would learn of it soon enough. Then, on impulse that he was pretty sure Buck would agree with when he told him, he added, "We're hiring Casey Wells away from you, too." Travis's eyes widened in surprise and Chris did smile then. "Just thought you deserved the warning. She wants to do more than run an office, but hell, we need somebody to do that for us. If she wants to expand her skills set, we'll help her do that."

"Where exactly do you plan to put her?" Orrin asked snidely. "The toilet?"

Chris felt his grin widen. "The new office. Buck's meeting the realtor right now to sign the lease." He shrugged. "Don't know yet how we'll get out of our old one, but I'm not staying there. Time to move on," he said. "Move up. Time to let go of some things that don't help anybody anymore." Meeting Orrin's hard eyes straight on, he said, "You should do the same." 

Travis pursed his lips thoughtfully, and Chris wondered if the old man would take the advice. He'd been in the game too long, maybe decades too long, but the game was what kept him vigorous. Orrin Travis could no more retire and tend a garden than his wife could; Evie volunteered for more organizations and did more good in this town than all of them combined, probably. Fortunately, Chris didn't have the same problem Orrin Travis did. If he never worked another day—and he would—he had plenty to keep him happy and a new friend who might make him and Buck happier still. He hadn't told Buck yet, but he'd dreamed of horses last night, and now he was just waiting for a holiday worth celebrating with gifts. Maybe the fourth of July, that wasn't too far distant. 

He could just picture Buck going cowboy on him, like Buck hadn't had the time to do in months even with the neighbors' horses. That would change, with Vin around—both at work and at home, Chris guessed slyly. Less tension, more laughter. Sleeping in the same bed most nights, less time spent on the road. More work and more honest work. People loved good horseflesh these days, riding an occupation of the rich rather than a tool for one's occupation, and Chris was pretty sure they could turn their hand to that on the side. Do something clean to balance out the dirt they worked in day to day as bail bondsmen and bounty hunters. 

"Chris!" 

Chris startled, realizing that wasn't the first time Orrin had said his name. "Sorry. Thinking."

"Well," Orrin said, "I suppose you've got a lot to think about. I'm headed back inside. Are you coming?" 

"With the cops showing up soon?" Chris grinned. "I wouldn't miss it for a half a million bucks." 

"Mrs. Wilson," Orrin said when they got back inside the office, "ask Marcus to clear out for the day or move into the bullpen, and put Mr. Larabee there. He'll be working from here for the rest of the afternoon. Possibly tomorrow."

She nodded, and Chris watched her tiptoe over to Marcus Wilbur's desk toward the back of the main room, with its clear view of Orrin's office door and Barbara Wilson's desk. He felt the tight grin stretch his face: a front row seat. 

But in the end, the actual arrest was a little anticlimactic. Mel Sullivan came in with two detectives and four uniforms, a hell of a lot more force than they'd need for one corrupt old woman. The uniforms read her her rights. She cried almost on cue. Orrin stood in his office doorway, looking like the grim reaper. Chris leaned back in his chair and watched the whole show, making note of any details Buck might be interested in, and after the uniforms escorted her out to a waiting patrol car, Orrin went to her desk and pushed the PA announcement button on her phone. 

"May I have your attention," he said, not asking at all. "Mrs. Wilson is no longer in our employ and if I have anything to do about it, she'll be living out the rest of her days in the state women's prison for embezzling, conspiracy to commit any number of felonies, and obstruction of justice. If any of you feel the need to quit, now is most definitely the day." 

With that he turned and strode back into his office, slamming the door behind him. Chris shook his head, awed. The old man had balls of steel. 

Ezra got up from his borrowed desk and followed Mel Sullivan to Chris. "Well," he said blandly, "that was a nice show."

"Yeah," Mel agreed, "it was." Then more dryly, "Wonder how many employees are gonna quit in the next few days?"

Ezra laughed, low and pleasured. "I think I'm going to start a betting pool on that. Mel? You want in?"

Mel rolled his eyes. "No. Gambling's illegal, you know." 

"Gambling?" Ezra turned innocent eyes on him. "Who said anything about money changing hands?" With that he sauntered away. 

Chris was still doing a mental tally of Orrin's organization, estimating how many hundreds of employees he had because for sure this story would travel to every Quick Release office in the country and trying to decide what number he was going to bet on when Mel griped, "Can you believe that guy? How the hell do you put up with him?"

Chris looked up, surprised, then he remembered that he wasn't a cop anymore. He could barely recall what it had been like, being that strait-laced. "We manage," he said blandly. "What's next for you, Mel?"

Mel smiled, disgruntled but happy. "I've found links to at least fifteen cold cases so far, just from Fowler's files. You guys are doing great things for my statistics."

"Glad we could help," he said. "And Mel? I'm glad you could help us, too. We appreciate it." 

Mel flushed a little, startling Chris until Mel muttered, "I didn't mean—I wasn't—shit. Your family's not a statistic."

Chris waved it away. "No offense," he said. Mel visibly relaxed, then started making leaving noises. "Go on," Chris told him. "I've got plenty of my own work to catch up on. Keep in touch if you want, Mel. We really do owe you." 

They shook hands, and Chris parked his hip on the edge of his desk to watch Mel leave, casting his eyes over the tight knots of employees gossiping about Mrs. Wilson's sudden departure and probably weighing their chances of winning Ezra's pool. Chris still needed to buy in for himself and Buck. In fact, he needed to call Buck and tell him the news. He pulled out his phone. 

"Hey, Chris!" Buck answered, sounding far too happy for a man in a real estate office. 

"Everything going okay?"

"Just signed the papers," Buck said. "We'll get keys in the next day or two. Julie's done a good job by us." 

"Good. They just picked up Barbara Wilson," Chris told him. 

"Yeah?" Buck chuckled, taking an unnatural enjoyment in the old woman's arrest. "That old biddy never did like me," Buck said, and Chris smiled in spite of himself. 

"Not like you to hold a grudge against a lady."

"Well she's no lady," Buck huffed. "Besides," he added, more serious now, "who knows how much trouble she's caused us over the years that we didn't even know about? And Orrin."

"Yeah." It was good, there was no denying that. "Orrin announced a company-wide clean-up," he said, "told anybody who thought they had something to be arrested for to clear out fast. Ezra's started a pool."

Buck whistled. "Put me down for thirty-eight," Buck said. 

"Any particular reason?" Chris grinned. 

"My favorite chest measurement on a woman," Buck replied, and laughed. 

"All right, Big Dog," Chris said, giving him that one. "You coming back here?" 

"Yeah. See you soon." 

They rang off and Chris went to find Ezra, putting down fifty dollars on Buck's number and reminding Ezra that he was going to check for the real head count from Travis. Then he went back to work, looking forward to the new office and the new employees, wondering how much he'd have to offer Casey Wells to get her to come work for them. Hoping Orrin didn't counter his offer. When Buck got here he'd talk to him about it. 

Or not. He had the feeling they were all going to be so busy over the next few days, nobody would care what he did, as long as it promised to make things easier in the long run.

Monday, June 18  
They hadn't been in the new office a week and already, so many things were better. Business was as busy as ever. He'd already started infiltrating Buck's larger office because it had south-facing windows—and because they'd shared a desk on the force, shared the office at home, shared their little corner in the old place. He couldn't get used to having an office all his own, and by the way Buck gave him little grateful smiles every time he moved a new folder in, he knew Buck was feeling the same. Buck had practically popped a boner when Chris moved his mousepad onto the desk and settled his new notebook computer beside it. Still, Ezra was not getting his own office. Chris would use the now-spare one for storage before he'd let Ezra have an inner sanctum where he got up to who knew what. Maybe they could make a break room out of it or something. These walls were pretty well soundproofed even if they were half made of glass. 

They had put in three long days of actual business, working through the weekend to get to Monday, and this day was almost done. 

Chris glanced out the windowed wall of their new office and into the open floor beyond it. Casey had just started this morning and she was bouncing from desk to desk out there, learning some of their old routine and installing better ones she'd picked up at Quick Release. He couldn't believe Orrin had held onto her as long as he had at the salary he'd paid her. She lingered longest at JD's desk, causing Chris to smile, before she trotted on over to Vin's and they ducked their heads together to review a schedule of some kind. Vin would be going on the road early tomorrow, and when he got back, he would be moving into his new apartment. Chris wasn't going to argue—he'd have done the same if he'd been willing to risk himself at all in something as crazy as this. 

Vin laughed at something Casey said, the sound carrying through their open door and drawing Chris's eyes. He looked damned good, healthy and rested and excited, hopefully about the new life he was starting to build down here. Buck made a pleased sound across the desk and Chris threw him a mock-dark look. Already, Buck had whispered about their next round, planning a private welcome-back party for Vin if he returned from the hunt with the skip in tow. Already, Buck had made overtures to Vin, and cuddled with him on the couch two nights running. Vin had welcomed the foreplay but he hadn't tried to take it further yet. And while Chris still felt a little uneasy about this thing growing among the three of them, that feeling was fading fast. He had, maybe for the first time in years, decided not to challenge his own happiness or miss it before it was gone. 

Vin might well be a part of that in the months to come. Maybe even the years. 

He looked at the worksheet on the desk and fiddled with his pen, trying to decide if he wanted to make one more phone call or shut down for the day and head on home. Buck picked up on it and snapped his computer shut with a loud clack. 

"You ready?" Buck asked him, bouncing up out of his chair and then on the balls of his feet. 

"Well you sure are," he said, trying for stern and missing it by a mile. They were both of them workaholics, he supposed, conditioned to long days and short nights, and he didn't see that changing even with the first horse he was going to buy in a couple of weeks. Maybe especially with that, because then they'd have work to do here and at home. 

Chris was looking forward to it. He stepped to the door of their office. "Vin," he called. 

Vin looked up, held up a finger until he could finish his call with whoever he was talking to, then put the handset back in the cradle. He was the only one of them who so far hadn't surrendered to handsfree headsets, and Chris was thinking about teasing him, telling him he knew it was so he wouldn't mess up his wild hair. "Yeah?" Vin said. 

"Wrap things up, we're heading home." 

"I've got my truck," Vin said, looking confused. 

"Yeah," Buck said, stepping up beside Chris and dropping a heavy arm over his shoulder, "but you leave before dawn tomorrow and you wanted to wash your truck before you take off."

Vin flushed slightly, and Buck chortled. Ezra, across the aisle, groaned long and loud. "If that's a euphemism, I'm quitting. I will not tolerate this behavior in the office!" he practically yelled. 

"Shut up, Ezra," Buck and Vin said together. Then Buck added, "You're jumping at smoke, slick. We really are just going home and then I'm gonna help him wash his truck. You can come chaperone if you want."

"God, no," Ezra said, and spun his chair away from them. 

"Catch us up, Vin," Chris said, and flicked off their office light. Buck went to grab a coke out of the refrigerator and Chris herded Casey back to her desk. "Everything go okay today?" he asked her. 

"Great, Mr. Larabee. I know a lot of stuff that will really help you guys, streamline a lot of the work." She was eager to please, and anxious to be worth the substantial raise they'd given her. 

"I know you do, and call me Chris. In a few months when you're settled in and have your carry permit, we'll talk about getting you trained and sending you out." He wasn't going to back down on their deal to her—and he suspected she wouldn't let them if they tried. 

Casey beamed up at him, worse than JD in her way but, he suspected, more level headed. They'd see. "Vin? Buck? Let's get a move on," he called, and rattled his keys in front of the door. 

"I'll be right behind y'all," Vin said, still at his desk. Chris wondered if it were true. 

The ride home was quick and comfortable, Buck chatting about the day as if Chris hadn't been there right beside him through the whole thing, and it amused him that the way Buck recounted the high points made them sound so much better than they'd been. On impulse he reached out and squeezed Buck's hand, and when Buck stopped short he shook his head. "No, go on," he said. "I'm listening." 

It took Buck a couple of tries to get back up to speed and Chris smiled, happy. 

When they got to the house Buck beelined for the bedroom and Chris followed, catching him changing into ratty cutoffs and an old tank top. "What're you doing?" 

"Gettin' ready to wash the cars." Buck squared back his shoulders in a pose and tilted his head down, grinning. "Wanna help?"

Chris chuckled, shaking his head. "I am not gonna get into water wars with you two," he said, then, "I'll make dinner" as a peace offering. 

He took himself off to the kitchen even though it wasn't much past five, heard Vin come into the house and then Vin and Buck both go back out. Then he slipped out of the kitchen and into the living room, walking slowly to the bookshelf where the very last of Sarah and Adam's remains rested in a china cup. He ran his finger over the rim, deciding that today was better than any other to finish what had been put into motion seven years ago, then headed out the front door where Vin and Buck were, surprisingly, actually washing Vin's truck. 

"Buck!" he called, loud enough to reach over the sound of the water and the radio they had playing. 

Buck's long-legged stride ate up the space between them, Buck holding his hands bent up like a surgeon's while soap suds and water dripped off his elbows. He made a feint to grab Chris with his wet hands, but whatever he saw on Chris's face stopped him. "You okay?" he asked. 

Chris nodded. "I've been thinking," he started. 

"Don't strain anything," Buck said. 

Chris ignored the jibe. "I've been thinking about fertilizing the pecan trees."

"We get enough off 'em already, more than we'll ever eat and plenty to keep the chipmunks happy," Buck started, then paused and looked at him, really looked. "Chris?" 

"I saved that cup, Buck," he said, knowing Buck would understand. When they'd scattered Sarah's and Adam's ashes through the rose bushes, he'd kept back a single china cup, sealed it with wax. It sat on a shelf in the living room behind some pictures, not drawing attention to itself but there, and Chris had pretty much always been aware of it. 

"You sure?"

Chris drew in a deep breath and held it, then blew it out slowly, feeling the empty space left behind but knowing it would be filled again, with air and life and Buck and whatever else came their way. He had that feeling again, of being inside the eye of a storm, and while he knew there wasn't anything as bad as Cletus Fowler waiting for him, he knew too that he wasn't the most mellow of men. Still, he was enjoying the peace inside him more than he'd imagined he could, and willing to deal with whatever came after it. "Yeah," he said, "I'm sure."

"All right," Buck said, agreeable but not acting excited about it. Chris knew better, knew Buck would be glad of this last, final step. "When do you want to do it?"

"I'm thinking right now," he said. 

"Yeah?"

He looked to Buck, standing still and strong beside him, then shot a glance at Vin who was still working on his truck. "Yeah. Vin?" he called. "Come on out back for a minute." Buck slung a damp arm around his shoulder and steered him toward the house. 

Back inside Buck was quiet, and Vin had picked up on their mood and settled down too, following them through the house. He didn't ask, but he did watch as Buck went to retrieve the teacup and Chris took it from his hands, juggling a newspaper and the barbeque lighter. "We're going out back," Chris repeated, not sure now just how much of an invitation was on offer. But Vin was a part of this, had made this last act possible. Vin nodded, and just about the time they reached the pecan trees he heard the kitchen door slam and looked back to find Vin on the deck, keeping back but watching them still. 

He pulled out his pocketknife to peel up the wax. It took more work than he expected, and little shards fell onto the newspaper he'd crumpled on the ground. 

"Feel like we should say something," Buck said quietly. 

"Nothing to say," he said, and reached for Buck's hand. Buck took it and held it tight, and they walked a slow circle around the trees, Chris pouring bits of ash out onto the ground until the cup was empty, only the residue left. He let go of Buck's hand and used his finger to wipe out the last remains, then rubbed them into the grass. Bits of ash stuck to his finger, gray lines embedded in his fingerprint. He rubbed his finger and thumb together, remembering, and leaned into Buck when a hand touched his neck. "I'm all right," he said, meaning it. 

He held out his hand for the lighter and set the paper on fire, watched the wax melt and flare up, watched tiny circles burn holes into the grass. They'd grow back fast in this weather, and soon there'd be no sign of this at all. The fire went out on its own while Chris watched, and a noise, something barely on the edge of sound drew his eyes up. Vin stood a few feet away, hands in his pockets, face somber. "Hey," he said. 

Vin nodded, hesitant, and Chris knew he worried he was intruding and was probably confused that Chris had invited him along. He held out his hand. "Come over here," he said. Vin did, and stared first at Chris's outstretched hand then at Buck before he took it, wary, barely a touch at all. "You brought the end to this," Chris said slowly, looking for the right words. "You let me put their killer in jail. I'll always owe you for that."

Vin's hand tightened on his. "You don't owe me anything, Chris, neither of you—and if you did, you've already paid me back and more." 

Chris shook his head and looked to Buck, saw the little frown of worry on his partner's face but he just let it lie, and tugged Vin closer, then turned him around until his back was to Chris's front. Carefully, watching Buck, he slid his hands around Vin's waist and set his chin on Vin's shoulder. "Buck?" he said. 

"Yeah?" Buck replied, eyebrows drawn down. 

"You know I wouldn't have gotten here without you. Never could have."

"Aww, Chris," Buck said, his voice soft and full of affection. Vin tried to pull out of Chris's hold then, but Chris just wrapped his arms around Vin's belly and waited, watching, until Buck stepped up in front of them both. He watched the silent exchange between Buck and Vin, watched Buck's face settle into a deep, untroubled calm. Then Buck put his hand over Chris's where it rested against Vin's belly and peeled it up, finger by finger, kept tugging at Chris's arm until he was half-turned away from Vin, half-turned toward Buck. Buck's hands, big and warm and gentle, cupped his face, and behind Vin's back Buck pressed soft kisses to his mouth, his closed eyelids. Then Buck put Chris's hand back on Vin's waist and trailed his fingers up Chris's arm as he stepped around behind them both. Chris expected the embrace, Buck's long arms reaching past his own waist to Vin's, hands rubbing gently over Chris's hands. 

"Guess this is finally over," Buck said against his ear.

Chris tilted his head back against Buck's shoulder, felt for the man's breath against his ear all without loosing his hold on Vin. 

Or something else was just beginning. 

-the end-

[Index] [Previous] 

Chapter End Notes: My sincere thanks to Megan and Maygra, Fara and Mardi, BMP--and everyone who has said nice things about this universe. 

Universe guidelines will be available soon on DnF and linked to this novel series.

The Magnificent Seven and it characters @ MGM, the Trilogy Entertainment Group, the Mirisch Corporation and TNN, and was developed by John Watson and others.

**Author's Note:**

> So, Charlotte and I started this sometime in 2002-2003, and I think Charlotte finished it up sometime in 2004 or 2005. I will note here that any input I had into the last 6 parts that comprise "What Counts As A Win" was largely influential in the structure of the overall story - I did little to no writing of those last six sections. (Charlotte may have kept some portions of conversation from earlier drafts or sections that got discarded later). I say this not to disavow the ending, but to ensure that she gets the credit due her. 
> 
> This is partially because in 2003 my mother died, and Charlotte and I had some disagreements about where the story was going, and more to the point of how we were going to get there. I was in poor emotional shape that year and the next (and even to this day to some extent) and pretty much walked away. That it got finished at all is entirely due to Charlotte and probably Megan Kent - so I want people to be clear on that if they comment. 
> 
> All that said, the ending, as it is, was not my favorite choice of the ones we discussed. The ending is good and wraps up a lot of things (almost all the things) that we laid out in what was a fairly complex and layered plot (I think) that Charlotte and I shared during the couple of years we worked on it together. It brings things to a closure and leaves the door open for what we expected to be additional works and that, ultimately, is what we wanted. But I think it shortcuts what started out as layered and complex and relies too much on established tropes of most Mag7 AU's, and that's a shame. That, however, is all at my feet because I wandered off and left Charlotte to struggle through to the end largely on her own. Again, I say this because I'm posting it and want to be sure that if you have issues with the story, you understand the context of both it's beginning and end. Not because either Charlotte or I are afraid of either critique or commentary (we aren't) but because if you've got criticism, I'd prefer it, in this case be levelled understanding that part of this work is a collaboration and part of it is not. 
> 
> It's being posted here and now, because its long-time home on the DnF archive appears to be gone. It's been on my website (http://assignations.org/maygra/) since the beginning, but I'm likely to lose those archives sometime in the next year and so I'm shifting it here. 
> 
> There may be reasons Charlotte doesn't want it posted, but I've not been apprised of those lately, so we'll see. I am planning on posting my other shorts in this universe here, but not hers, so if you want them, you'll need to take it up with her.


End file.
